Archive of Our Own

It was late afternoon, and out in the countryside surrounding Aubrey Hall, the summer was so still that the only sounds were the rustling of tree leaves, crickets, and the occasional moo from nearby farm. Even the birds seemed to have taken refuge from the heat, not a single chirp to be heard for hours. The day felt heavy, hot and pristine, furnace-like and suffocating, and if it weren’t for the pool and the shade of the big oak tree, Colin feared he may have simply evaporated, and floated away on the barely-there breeze.

But he was alive, and thank God, because next to him lay Penelope Featherington in a sky blue bathing suit that was insulting him with both what it dared to show, and what it dared to hide. Jesus fuck he wanted to be that piece of fabric so bad.

He normally had a better grip on his horniness, had some scrap of decency, but the heat seemed to have melted away his normal restraints, softening the steel so it became malleable and pliant, one good nudge from being free of them completely.

It had been the usual weekend away; Bridgertons lounging around the pool until they head back to the city, one by one. But Colin worked for himself, and so did Pen, so they exchanged evil looks over breakfast as the others bemoaned their work week and wished they could stay longer.

Should we? Penelope’s cheeky face asked.

Yes we should, Colin's smirk had returned instantly.

But now, just the two of them in the shade of the tree where nothing moved, Colin was wondering if it was such a good idea. With no sound, no sights, no people to distract him, all he could see– hear, breathe– was Penelope in that goddamn fucking bathing suit. She was seeming more and more like a mirage by the second, because what else would be so perfect, so refreshing, would call his name so perfectly? He wanted to drink from her, plunge his face in her waters, and swim around. Drown.

He was hard again, and feeling so detached from reality he wasn’t sure he cared to hide it anymore. It was what it was. She was perfect. And he was a mortal man. Deal with the consequences of reality, Penelope, he wanted to say.

But he didn’t, because he wasn’t a creep, and he sighed and slung his towel over the front of his body instead.

They lay on matching banana lounges, under an umbrella with a small table in between. On it, a jug of water with the ice long melted, slices of lemon submerged and sad-looking, an open packet of crackers and a plate of fruit. The last one he had to be on high alert around at all times, lest Penelope decided to bite a strawberry like her lips were made to wrap around things and suck, or crunch watermelon that was so ripe streams of juice ran down her chin, begging to be licked off.

Fruit had been a bad idea. Or a good idea. He didn’t know anymore.

He was obsessed with her to the point it was reaching critical mass. He couldn't ignore it any longer. It loomed so big he could not get past it to continue with his normal life, it was sitting waiting for him in every room, whether she was in it or not. A giant exclamation of either “she’s here!” or “where is she?”.

He would tell her, he decided that weekend, feeling panicked but only in a distant faraway manner. Not now, of course not. He made the decision, that was enough hard (pardon the pun) stuff for today. He’d figure out the rest when his brain cells decided to reconvene.

“Mmm, this watermelon is so fucking good!”

Not content with ruining his life visually, which he could defend against by looking away, Penelope had decided to take her unwitting pornography to the audio realm. Because she actually moaned as she took a bite. Moaned. Colin chewed the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would distract him. It half worked.

“Yeah…it’s good,” he managed to agree, staring at the pool so hard it hurt his eyes.

“I picked such a good one,” she said proudly, all traces of her normally perfectly curated persona gone. Colin enjoyed it immensely, most of the time, the way she relaxed around him, unmasking slowly each time, like a present to be unwrapped. A challenge to see how soon he could peel off her layers. This time it was like he’d reached a new level though, and he was both immobilised and ruined by this newly-bared Penelope. God, bared? Can you imagine-

Don’t.

“You sure did,” he agreed meekly, keeping his eyes fixed on the water as her glorious rack wobbled in his periphery.

“It’s just sweet and juicy and perfect,” she fucking purred and Colin stood up quickly, and without preamble, dove into the pool. He stayed under the water for a moment, grateful it was cold enough to partially clear his mind, and he told himself to get it together before surfacing.

He cautiously opened his eyes when he saw Penelope looking at him, amused.

“Got hot?”

He nodded. You have no fucking idea, you fucking minx.

She took another bite of the watermelon wedge in her hand, the last piece of red flesh disappearing in her mouth. The pool had been a good idea, because it put distance between them and hid his massive hard-on. But a bad idea because now he had a front row seat to the Penelope Eating Porn Show. Was she doing it on purpose? He had to wonder as she sucked noisily on the rind, allegedly collecting any errant juice.

He watched, helpless as she finally finished, and deposited the rind on the plate of scraps beside her.

“Do you want any?” she asked, blue eyes innocent and world-shattering. He shook his head, grateful no audible response was needed. He wasn’t sure he could speak. She smiled in response (mayday she was too beautiful, too sexy, he was going to die, send help, etc.), before standing and walking over to the pool. Colin was helpless to do anything but watch her form get closer, suddenly looking up at the woman of his dreams from the position he suspected he was always meant to; at her feet and worshipping her.

She lowered herself to the edge of the pool, swinging her legs in, knees inches away from his face. Her thighs spilled out, creamy flesh that he was dying to know whether it was hot from the sun, or still cool from the water. Her belly spilled over her bather bottoms, soft and so close to his face he could easily bury his face in there. Jesus.

Penelope, completely oblivious to his strife, was humming and watching the water ripple around her legs. He focused on counting the tiles on the edge of the pool, his mind distractedly processing the melody she was humming.

Despite his inner torment, he couldn't help but smile at the song choice.

“What?”

Penelope noticed immediately, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Watermelon Sugar?”

She laughed. “Of course. You can't eat watermelon and not sing it, it's against the law.”

“Indeed,” he nodded. Even half-dead-with-horny Colin knew that.

“Did you know it's about oral?”

Colin choked.

“What?”

“What? It is.”

Penelope looked at him earnestly, like his reaction was one of disbelief, not from the word “oral” exiting her unfairly red, wet lips.

“No, I ah, know. It's pretty clear from the lyrics…” he stammered. Penelope continued on like she wasn’t a life-ruiner.

“I mean it's not just about oral…”

“No.” Colin wondered if the number of pool tiles in front of him had changed. He was pretty sure he could count them with his dick now.

“Does it?” Penelope asked, and Colin’s head was empty. Wiped clean. No signs of activity.

“Does it what?” he asked dumbly.

“Taste like strawberries… on a summer evening?” She asked with a giggle, and he was going to drown. He blushed, probably looking like a strawberry himself.

“Kind of,” he stammered

“Hmmm,” she hummed. “Interesting.”

“I mean, they all taste different,” he spluttered, trying to save himself, but probably making it worse. Penelope nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world for them to be talking about

“I wonder what mine tastes like,” she mused.

“Same.”

“What?”

“What?”

Whoops.

“You just said…”

“Yeah.”

He did. Why did he do that again?

“That you wonder…?”

“Mmhm.”

“Did you mean you wonder what you taste like?”

There it was. An out. Beautiful Penelope, always saving him, even if she was also the reason he needed rescuing most of the time.

Say yes, idiot.

“No.”

Penelope stared down at him, face unreadable but blush creeping up.

“Oh…so you meant…”

“I wanna know what you taste like…” he croaked, completely fucked now. This was not the plan. This was never the plan. But God help him, he did. Had thought about it way, way too often for it not to pop up at the mere mention of it, like a dog who had heard the word “walk”.

Penelope didn’t speak, just swallowed. Just looked down at him, damp tendrils hanging either side of her face. Just bit her lip and opened her thighs. Wait, opened her thighs?

“Okay,” she breathed and Colin nearly came in the fucking pool.

“Sorry?” he asked, nearly silently, all breath promptly leaving his lungs. Legally, he was probably considered dead. Above him, Penelope flushed a deeper shade of red, stuttering.

“Oh, sorry-” she started to say, her legs beginning to close.

“No!” Colin’s voice was loud in the quiet afternoon, his hands reaching up to hold her knees open. Jesus, that was…we didn’t discuss that, brain.

He was fairly sure that was the idea, though, his dick firmly taking charge.

While his various body parts had a discussion (or collective breakdown), in reality, Colin was still holding open his best friend's legs, looking up at her and begging her not to rescind the offer of him tasting her vagina. You know, like a normal person.

“No?” Penelope asked, voice soft, hesitation diminishing but still very much present on her face.

“Yeah…I mean…is that okay?”

Colin stared, dumbfounded, as she nodded slowly. It was a relief actually, because it showed maybe she was as stupid as he was. Because this was not the work of mature adults who valued their friendship. This was the idiocy that only the combination of tropical temperatures, horniness and a third mystery thing could inspire. Maybe the fruit was fermented.

His hands still on her knees, fingers digging gently into her flesh, and Colin realised suddenly he was allowed to look. He was allowed to look. If he was allowed to taste, he was allowed to look, right? Surely.

He spent one more long moment looking in her eyes, a silent agreement stretching between them. They were going to jump off this cliff together, even if they had no parachutes, or any idea what was on the bottom. They hadn’t even discussed their last will and testament. But they were still gonna do it, because they were best friends, and they did everything together.

Stupid best friends, but still.

Then his eyes fell to her chest.

Fuckkkk.

An unobstructed, fully-permitted view of her tits– two creamy drops superhumanly (because really how were they doing that?) strung up with blue fabric. Even though it was hot enough to fry an egg on his ass, and her suit was dry now, he could see her nipples straining against the fabric.

Fucking hell.

They were about a centimetre across each, he thought, storing that information away for another day. After all, he did not know if this would be a repeat thing. Or if he'd see more than this, boob-wise. And he didn't want to assume. He was a gentleman.

Somewhere in an old-ass graveyard his great-great-grandfather Bridgerton rolled in his grave.

They were so perfect. He wanted to write poems about them. Recite said poetry to them. Bring them snacks. They were snacks.

Then down, down, down, his gaze travelled, over the soft swell of her belly, and he wanted it– wanted her stomach in a way that wasn’t really normal. Wanted to kiss and grab and possess her. Lick her stretch marks, nuzzle the dimples, sink his teeth in gently enough that it didn’t hurt.

Then he moved lower and-

Fuck.

Colin had forgotten all the other words.

She was wet. Her bathing suit was dry. But also wet. Dry but wet except for one very specific spot, a darker blue that told him that…she wanted him. Maybe the events leading up to this moment should have clued him in, but he wasn’t feeling particularly clever right now.

He glanced up at her again, and she was watching him, lip in her teeth.

He stared at her in amazement, then his hand was reaching forward to touch her (he was touching her!!!). He could feel her heat through the fabric, and he pressed his fingers more firmly again, mouth dropping open in awe when she gasped.

“Holy fucking shit,” he whispered, and brought his hand back to her legs, urging her to open her legs wider, then he frowned. This wouldn't do. He slid his arms under her thighs, hands reaching around to grab her ass (holy fuck he was touching her ass), and pulling her so she was sitting on the edge of the pool in front of him. Then her pussy was right there, right there, and the final brain cell must have floated away in the water somewhere because he dropped his face into her without preamble.

Breathe me in, breathe me out

Whatever was left in the empty space between his ears echoed lyrics as he breathed in deeply, mouthing at her through the fabric of her bathing suit, causing her to let out a choked cry.

His mouth full of saliva, he sucked at her, groaning when he realised he was tasting her, and felt her hands grasp his hair.

His hands moved to find the ties to the bottoms, pulling at them desperately, and then he was unwrapping her like a present, pulling down the front of the suit and revealing….

Nirvana? Heaven? The euphoria you experienced right before you died?

No. None of these phrases were suitable enough to express the utter perfection it was to see Penelope Featherington’s pussy for the first time.

Curls thick and darker than the hair on her head, they were trimmed neatly like a perfectly manicured patch of paradise. Her clit poked out from the middle, dark pink and swollen, and he could see how puffy and wet her lips were, even without seeing the wetness leaking from her.

Holy shit.

She had wetness leaking from her.

Creamy and spilling onto her now useless swimming suit, he could swear he could see more drip from her the more he looked.

He stared at her, up close and personal, for a while. Probably a weird amount of time. But it was so pretty, it’d be rude not to, right? Sure, Colin.

Finally he managed to tear his gaze away, and looked up at her again, her eyes intensely watching him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Do you like i-” Penelope began to ask and he decided she didn’t need to speak either– not if she was going to ask stupid questions– and gently lowered his mouth to her, taking another deep inhale. If she tasted as good as she smelt, he was going to pass away.

Then he was licking up her slit, slowly, carefully.

Fuckkkkkkk.

It did taste like strawberries on a summer evening. But also like the ocean on a day like today, but under the Greek sun, or tropical air right before a storm hits in Thailand. It was rich, but refreshing. Distinct, almost floral. Just one hit was enough to drive all thoughts from his mind as he explored her gently with his tongue.

Above him, Penelope whined, leaning back on her hands as he slid his tongue through her folds slowly. Oh, he was going to take his time. He wanted to know every nook, every cranny. Wanted to lap up any juice he found, then find new ways to make more.

Now leaned back, her pelvis tilted upward, opening her to him even further, and he used the leverage to push his tongue into her entrance, tracing its edges delicately. She was trembling, and he was enjoying the experience of sliding his tongue against the smooth skin of her far too much to hurry, slowly, slowly, licking up and down, in and out.

His face slotted against her perfectly, so perfectly he could not breath, but it was fine, a slight tilt every now and again to break the suction, to suck in air through his nostrils before he exhaled directly into her.

He lapped up every drop of her wetness, but more and more came, and he could feel her fingers gripping his hair by the roots, pushing him closer. Her muffled cries synchronised with the pulsing of her pussy around his tongue, and he loved it. Loved it all so much. He needed to stay here, always.

He supposed he wanted her to come on his tongue, but selfishly, he was enjoying himself too much to make that a priority right now. So she rolled her hips against him, bumping against his chin and nose, and he moved away, manoeuvring so he could come in from another angle, like an asshole.

He could hear her whine in frustration– needing more, poor thing– but he avoided her clit. He kept his hands pressed on her knees, keeping them open to him, too entranced by how he felt her quiver on his lips, how more and more wetness flowed from her, how she was panting so hard he could hear it over the pounding in his head.

Flattening his tongue, he licked up from her entrance again and again, then buried his face deep so he could reach as far as he could go, cutting off his own air until black spots formed behind his eyelids.

“Colin…Colin…Colin…”

When he came up for air again, he realised she was pulling him by his hair, and he looked up at her, so turned on he could die, face covered in her, and she was staring at him desperately.

“Colin, please,” she was begging, and oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Keeping his eyes on her face– her panting, flushed red face– he moved his hand carefully from her knee. She was so swollen, so soft, he slid into her with one finger easily, going back with a second immediately. Her eyes half-shut, she moaned with the first intrusion, then louder with the second. Oh he wanted to learn how to play her, wanted to memorise her like a song.

He moved slowly, the angle awkward only allowing his hand to rest on the paving beneath her. Only able to move his fingers a little at a time, he used his fingertips to touch her, relishing every microexpression and little breath she gave. Every little tremor around his fingers as he pushed into her again and again.

She groaned, her eyes pleading and he sighed.

Fine.

He curled his fingers, finding that soft spot within her, unable to look away from her face as her eyes widened and her hips bucked forward. Then, as he began to rub, he returned to her, taking one more deep breath of her before he latched onto her clit and sucked gently, steady pressure as he massaged her from within. He felt her clench around him, then again, then again… and then she seized, her cries loud in the quiet summer air, heels digging into his back.

He grunted, hips thrusting uselessly against nothing as he moved to catch the wetness flowing into his hand. He removed his fingers and went back to sucking, tongue desperately seeking out her release, and when her hips moved as he did he realised she wasn't done. He returned to her clit and sucked, ravenous and desperate to make her come more. She screamed, pain on his scalp as she pulled his hair, and she pushed him away just in time for him to see her squirt– the liquid hitting him across his mouth and chin, splashing in the water in front of him.

“Fuck, fuck-”

He hurriedly opened his mouth to catch it, moving his fingers to rub across her clit, her moans stattaco and animalistic as she rutted against him, splashes flying into his mouth that he drank down hungrily. He licked and licked and sucked until finally he felt her muscles relax, her thighs lolling open, and her hands pushing his head away tiredly.

He was panting, practically humping the pool tiles, cock hard and painful. She was a dream, dazed and tears streaming down her face, body slumped with just her arms to hold her up. He couldn’t resist stroking her one more time, laying a kiss above her clit, and she shivered and moaned breathlessly when he did. Oh God, he loved her.

He rested his head on her knee, letting his breath come back, both of their pants the only sound above the crickets.

“Well?”

Colin heard Penelope say something and rolled his head to look at her.

“Hmm?” he asked, and she was smiling at him, exhausted, hair frizzy where it had dried but some of it sticking to her forehead. He was relieved to see her there, somehow. Like this hadn’t been a dream, or this hadn’t been a mistake so fatal it resulted in them both spontaneously combusting.

“What does it taste like?” she asked, a laugh threatening to spill over. He smiled and pressed a kiss into her thigh.

“Indescribable,” he murmured, muffling a laugh with her skin. “Sorry.”

Penelope sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Ugh, so unimaginative.”

Colin grinned.

“Come here,” he said, and she did, leaning down and he pulled her head down for a kiss. She tasted like watermelon, sugar, and salt. He sighed happily as they exchanged saliva, and he felt her lick herself off his lips and chin.

They broke away to breathe, and she hummed.

“I see what you mean,” she murmured. “Hard to explain.”

Colin nodded, more dopey smiles dripping from his face.

“Pen?”

She answered him with her eyes, the warmth unmistakable and not doing anything to soothe the need buzzing through his body.

“I can do that again, right?”

She smiled, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him back slightly. She shuffled forward, moving her legs together and sliding into the pool in front of him, the water swaying and splashing around her. Then she looped her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around him as his arms came to cradle her bare ass against him. Then she leaned in to kiss him again.