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The first time she tries to go down on him, he simply distracts her from it. Raven is easy to distract – a touch here, a kiss there, and then she lets out a soft moan, grabs his hair, and finds something better to do with her lips. She makes out with him like a fiend, breath held and all teeth, until their bodies feel taunt like strings, and Raven pulls him closer, closer, closer.
He ends up rocking into her gently, his eyes shut, back covered in sweat. It seems fair; giving up a piece of himself in exchange for the one he just refused to give her.
***
Except Raven isn’t actually easy to distract.
He never really tries explaining to her why he doesn’t like getting head, or why it feels kind of wrong. She grew up on a poor station, too, so he’s fairly sure she gets the gist. He doesn’t need to go into specifics; into disgusted girls brushing their teeth in the common bathroom, or those few offers he got when he was just a cadet, and refused so fast it felt almost like tripping over his own feet.
Oh, what a load of crap. Like he’s some delicate flower who’s been scarred for life. He’s met guys like this on the Ark, so preoccupied with the pain of witnessing pain that they didn’t have any time left to help. Maybe what’s stopping him from spilling his guts to Raven isn’t embarrassment, but some remaining thread of human decency.
So the next time she tries, her eyes fixed on him carefully, Bellamy bites his tongue, and lets her. It’s not like this is a great sacrifice for him. He gets to feel her lips trail kisses down his hip, then gently suck at the base of his cock, hot, hot, wet, until his fingers are shaking from excitement, yes, excitement. That’s what this is.
He’s an idiot for thinking Raven won’t notice sudden tension in his muscles, or his desperate grip on the sheets way too close to her head. When she looks up, her mouth is wet and a bit swollen, but before she can ask him a question he really doesn’t want to answer, he sits up to give her a kiss because that’s his go-to distraction, because that’s what he knows how to do, because his lips obey him so much better than any other part of his body.
Look how they lie for him.
“Not yet,” he whispers when their faces are pressed close. “It’ll take forever now, leave it. Come here.”
There is a precious nugget of truth there; he is only half-hard, and it would take her a good while to get him off if she started now, but by the time foreplay is over, he has his fingers on Raven’s clit, and she’s gasping heavily as she arches into his touch. He can slip inside her quite inconspicuously, quickly and with no fuss, and feel her clench around him before he comes. Which is what this is all supposed to be about.
If you think about it, maybe there was more than one nugget of truth.
***
After that failed attempt, Raven gets the message and stops trying to give him head. Bellamy is very relieved about it for a whole month.
Then he starts wanting.
Maybe it’s because he’s easier around her now, or maybe there is some random reason he doesn’t dwell on, because it doesn’t matter either way. What matters is that he is, all of a sudden, tongue-tied; a right fool, tense and awkward, hesitant to ask for what he’s quite sure she’d give him with pleasure. After all, she was the one to initiate time after time, and if he knows anything about Raven, it’s that she isn’t the martyr type in bed. If she’d tried going down on him, it sure as hell wasn’t because she didn’t like the taste. And yet he still can’t make himself ask. Maybe because most nights, he’s too beat to open his mouth.
They haven’t had sex for some days, maybe a week or so, what with shifts, and duties, and chores, but at least they’re sharing a bed now, too tired to pretend that they don’t sleep better together. Tonight it’s Raven’s bed, and Bellamy is the second to fall into it, exhausted and tense, craving her mouth, yes, but craving her warmth even more.
He tries to be brave and not impose himself; tries to curl up next to her, and rest quietly. Except Raven reaches out, cradles his head to her chest, and just like that, he’s shaking with need for he doesn’t even know what, except of course he does. Blindly, he takes her hand, and moves it to the front of his pants, then stays motionless as she coos softly, and gets his dick out in seconds.
“Shh, it’s okay,” she tells him at the first slow stroke, and he nods frantically, shoulders slumping in defeat. He still feels the holster for his gun on his hip, his arms ache from a brutal afternoon drill, and he’s too tired to judge, in his usual careful manner, whether he deserves this or not. He feels the bed shift as Raven reaches for something behind him, then there are gentle fingers running from his cheek to the nape of his neck, and he can’t even moan. He just fists his hand on the fabric of Raven’s shirt, lets out a few shaky breaths, then comes quietly, spilling into a dirty shirt Raven picked up from a pile of laundry on her floor.
For once in his life, it doesn’t occur to him to return the favor. He falls asleep with his fingers still grasping the back of Raven’s shirt, and when he wakes up, his eyes are sore as if he stayed up all night, reading.
It’s from tiredness alright.
***
It’s summer by the time he asks for her mouth; asks quietly and shyly, making sure he’s easy to refuse, as if Raven was the kind of person to refuse him anything. He knows he’s being an idiot; knows that they’re a couple, and it’s stupid to hold back on this one act as if it was some profound symbol, while he does everything else with her. There is no need for drama, and so he tries making his voice casual, he has a craving, and could she please...
Yes she could.
It’s casual, yes, so beautifully casual; Raven’s deft fingers get him out of his pants and underwear in the matter of seconds, then she asks him to hold her hair back for her as she moves to sit between his legs. It’s not a big deal. He eats her out so much he could draw her from memory by now, and he can satisfy a craving once in a blue moon. And anyway, he’ll make it up to her. Raven likes him vocal, so vocal he’ll be. He will, he promises himself as he combs his fingers through her hair, moan and gasp just like she likes it, and he’ll swear his head off for her pleasure, how very romantic of him.
Ah yes, because that’s why he does it. He’s only a talker for her.
He has his lines prepared; designed and committed to memory. Fuck, he will whisper when her lips touch him for the first time. Fuck, Raven, don’t stop. He’s so good at what he does it won’t sound rehearsed at all. Just look at how good he is at getting.
He needs to wait a moment to deliver his line, because Raven decides to tease him first; press a kiss low on his stomach, and run her finger slowly up the length of his cock. This is okay, he reminds himself. It’s what couples do. She likes to take her time with him.
When she finally kisses him, he’s so focused he almost jumps, and forgets what he was going to say. Raven laughs against him, and he’s holding her hair too tightly, too lightly, too high, altogether wrong, so wrong, he needs to…
But before he can do anything, Raven grabs his hand, and pushes it down until he can wrap his fingers around his own length.
“Slowly,” she instructs, eyes fixed on his. “Nice and slow. Got it?”
She guides his hand for the first few strokes, then dips her head again, and kisses the tip of his cock before taking it into her mouth, and licking under the crown. She’s warm, she’s so warm, fuck, warm enough to make his hips twitch so that he thrusts into his own hand, and Raven gently scrapes him with her teeth. Does he like it with teeth?
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Raven’s breath hitches, and when he looks to check what’s wrong, he realizes she’s using her free hand to rub her clit.
He’s not an idiot, and he knows a ruse when he sees one, but it doesn’t make it any less good, in the grand scheme of things. It’s a battle of wits, in a way, so he still holds on to her hair like a good soldier while he jerks himself off, then swears a blue streak as she swallows, breathless and gleeful that she tricked him.
Maybe that’s good enough for starters.