Work Text:
Their work day had been long and even more irritating than usual, bureaucracy wise, but they hadn't lost anyone. In fact, they'd done great work in spite of it all, and now it was over. They were home.
He'd showered while she threw together some pasta. They both discovered a long time ago that carbs, especially paired with cheese, could solve most of their mood regulation issues, at least temporarily. Even more could be solved by just being together. She knew that would probably shock most of their friends and nearly all of their coworkers, but it was true.
It had taken a while to get there, but every step had been worth it. They were at a place in their relationship where she could sit back in her chair and watch him finish his dinner, her bare foot stretching out to rub along his leg and ultimately settle in the chair next to his. She could down the rest of the glass of red wine she'd poured herself, left over from the night before, and set it on the table without taking her eyes off him. He could look up and see that she was feeling impish for some reason but know she'd eventually tell him without him even asking.
When there was a lull in the conversation, she said:
"Are you in the mood tonight?"
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So it's that kind of evening, huh?"
"You seem like you could use a little extra unwinding."
"Potentially. Sure."
"You want me to give you a blowjob?"
His face crinkled into a surprised smile. "What? Why?"
She gave him an equally scrunched up face of amused confusion, then she chuckled.
"Because I'm in the mood, and you like my mouth on you. And I can tell that you're starting to get a tension headache."
"And your prescription is head?"
"Good way to relieve tension."
"I can't ask you to—"
"I don't remember you asking. I remember offering."
He frowned melodramatically now.
She said, "I mean, if I asked you to rub my shoulders, you would. You might even volunteer to before I asked. Why wouldn't I give you a no-strings-attached orgasm?"
"A sound argument."
"And you'll sleep better."
He sighed, but she could tell she'd won.
So she got up from her chair and said, "You wash the dishes and let your food settle while I clean up the bedroom a little and get a shower. When I come out, if you want me to go down on you, you'll be naked on the bed, waiting for me. If not, I hope the baseball game isn't as boring as the one two nights ago when you fell asleep."
She gave him a saucy look but tried not to outright saunter out of the room, especially knowing he was watching and enjoying every move.
She took her time before she got in the shower, although by the time it was over the anticipation was beginning to make her feel wide awake and a little needy. Slipping into her lounging-around-the-house clothes felt comforting and familiar but she was also very distracted by the slip and drag of fabric over her skin — and the fact that she could hear the bed springs creak as one of her favorite people on the planet settled on the bed. Naked.
They'd been at work together all day, and now they were home together, and the weird thing that wasn't weird anymore? They didn't want to murder each other. Days at work were like an old fashioned dance, informal but meant to allow only occasional touches, the two of them weaving in and out of each other's presence with enough regularity to be comfort but not so much that they began to get on each other's nerves, most days. At home, though, the dance was closer and warmer.
She hadn't washed her hair, just pulled it up into a bun for the shower, and now she let it down. Her face was clean and bare. Her eyes gave away how tired she was, but she felt mollified by dinner and further lulled into letting some of the stress drop away with the hot water in the shower. That laid the foundation for her to be very excited to get her hands on him for a while.
When she came out of the en suite bathroom and saw him there, catching his eyes before they began to take her in, she felt her body flush. He really could be quite obedient, especially if she was calmly and sweetly directive rather than outright bossy: telling him what she observed, offering him a choice. Knowing when to make that sort of move in the first place.
There he was, propped up against the pillows, not a stitch of clothing on, scrolling through his phone — which he put face-down on the nightstand when she came into the room. His other hand, however, was now holding his cock, which was pretty near fully hard, and lightly teasing the head with his thumb.
"You started without me," she murmured.
"Not really," he replied with a shrug. "You think you can talk about blowjobs at the table and have me not be most of the way there by the time I take off my clothes?"
She crawled onto the bed and climbed over him, settling herself over his hips. His hands went to her waist, one of them quickly pressing up under her t-shirt, smoothing over still-damp, heated skin. He didn't, however, go for her breasts, not to squeeze or even lightly caress. This was Robby patiently seductive — despite the fact that she'd said she was going to focus on him.
(She was not in the slightest surprised.)
"You're over-dressed," he said, fingers roaming over her ribs. Soft and indulgent.
She said, "I don't need to be naked for this, and it's chilly in the house."
"It would enhance the experience," he said with a sly smile.
"I'm sure it would," she murmured.
His eyes made her feel so very desired. Always, really. She often wondered if age had made him so persistent in his attention and intention, but she had to imagine he'd always burned just like this, the low flame that heats slowly but surely and then simply never, ever dies down.
Taking in his dark eyes, which were touching her as surely as his hands, she decided to concede his point. It would definitely add to the experience.
"Fine," she said. "If you want, I'll take off one thing."
"Pants," he replied immediately.
She snorted, as if she didn't expect exactly that choice. She didn't have on a bra and the t-shirt was clinging, so there was little left to the imagination. And he was definitely a fan of her bare legs.
She climbed off the bed long enough to shimmy out of the flannel sleep pants she had on, revealing a pair of underwear he'd never seen before because she'd never worn them before: tiny boyshorts in white lace.
She had not been playing fair from the start, and now he knew it. He wasn't even irritated. In fact, it seemed like her sneakiness made the whole scenario even better.
(Which she well expected, of course.)
"I'll suck you off, she says," he muttered, but his face was lit into a grin. "Just sit back, no need to reciprocate, she implies."
As she knelt on the bed again, keeping her body just out of arms' reach, she said, "Still the plan. And you were always going to reciprocate, let's be honest about that. Now, you said you wanted enhancement. You don't like them?"
A very stupid question. As his eyes lingered on her hips and thighs and the strip of hair between her thighs, dark against the white lace, they were about as wide as they could be, and he clearly wanted to touch her. As it was, he just palmed at his dick kind of absently and fixed her in his gaze, giving her a very specific half-bewildered glare: you said I'm not allowed to accuse you of trying to kill me anymore, so I won't, but I want to.
Instead, he took a deep breath, then he said: "I like them so much, I would like to take them off of you with my teeth."
She grinned and dropped down between his legs. Adorably, he took a shuddering breath.
She said, "That would ruin them. Is that what you want?"
She took him in hand, stroking slowly, watching his eyes slip closed.
"No, ma'am," he replied. His right hand tangled into her hair, then his voice dropped low in his chest as he added, "And that's the only reason I'm not asking you to climb on top of me right now and let me pull them to the side so I can fuck you in them."
She'd been trying to ignore her own arousal, but he had a way of suddenly knocking her on her ass with want, metaphorically, often with his words. She had half a mind to let him do just what he described, because she wanted it, too. So much, now. Instead, she leaned over and took him in her mouth before she could waver from the course.
Robby was not the easiest man to get off with a blow job, but he was still very responsive to a mouth on his cock, so they usually did this as foreplay or as an end in itself, not toward an orgasm. She took him down until her lips met her fist for a few minutes, to make sure he was good and hard and to get him nice and wet. Then she started pulling off sometimes to tease a little, licking along the underside, sucking in just the head, kissing up and down the shaft while she held eye contact with him, which predictably drove him fucking wild.
For his part, he focused on holding her hair out of her face, which gave him an excuse to fondle and caress it, sometimes winding particular curls around his fingers. He was pretty good at not thrusting his hips, apologizing anytime they seemed to move of their own accord. As a reward, she sometimes took him a little deeper, until he was pressing into her throat. She could stand that pretty well, at least in the short term, so she repeated the motion until he made this particular noise in the back of his throat, then she pulled back. He looked down at her with a heady mix of betrayal and unbridled lust, tightening his grip in her hair. She smiled and slicked her mouth back down his length again.
"Samira," he moaned. "Feels so good, honey."
She looked up at him.
He said, "You know I love the way your pretty mouth looks stretched around me."
He reached down and rubbed at her bottom lip with his thumb.
Hearing those noises out of him, having him talk to her in that rough purr of a voice was making her body overheat and her cunt practically throb. The tickling lace of those super impractical panties was not helping the situation.
She let one of her hands roam up over his hairy stomach to his equally hairy chest, where it rested over his heart.
"I love to feel you touch me," he murmured, fingers swirling softly against her scalp.
She returned to making slow, deep pulls of his cock, which he kind of luxuriated in, arching his back a little and letting out a babbling stream of noises and affirmations.
Finally, he guided her back and off his cock, at the same time tilting her head to look up at him.
"Are you warm enough?" he said.
She raised an eyebrow, smiling.
He grinned, adding, "I don't want your legs to get cold."
"Why do I get the impression you're angling to fuck me?"
He affected concern, saying, "Only to get your legs closer to my body heat."
"Oh yeah?"
He nodded, his smile turning hot as he said, "I want you to ride me, just the way you like. I wanna watch you come."
She wanted that very much, but he was a delightful person to tease, so she wrapped her hand around his shaft and said:
"I haven't done what I set out to do, though."
"Now, see," he muttered, laying his head back against the pillow, eyes slipping closed, "you had your plan for this, but I had mine. And mine was to make you climax so hard you forget your plan entirely."
Plucking at the waistband of her underwear, she said, "These will have to come off, then."
"Let me," he said, motioning for her.
She crawled over him as he raised himself up and sat back against the headboard. Her midsection was just about at eye level, and he reached out to slip his fingers along that waistband, then they trailed down over her mound, teasing feather-soft along her slit. He leaned in to kiss her stomach, and he rested his face there, breathing in her scent and continuing to tease her through the lace with the rough pads of his fingers.
"Michael," she said with a soft gasp. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Off."
With a delighted smile — one might even call it smug, but she could forgive it because it was, quite frankly, pretty hot — he peeled her out of those panties and tossed them on the chair near the bed.
"You want me to get a condom?" he asked.
They used them frequently enough just for extra peace of mind, and for the easier cleanup, but they were clean and she had an IUD, and besides…
"Was that part of your plan?"
He tiled his head, saying, "It could be."
She just shook her head.
He reached out and slipped his fingers along her folds again, now bare to his touch. He didn't need to see if she was ready for him — it was pretty obvious — but he pressed two fingers into her anyway, and she moaned.
"Please," she said.
He was already pulling her forward and sitting up to take his cock in hand to position it to slip into her cunt. With her hands on his shoulders, she sank down until he was as deep as he could go. His hands settled at her waist.
"Mmm," she moaned. "Fuck, that feels good."
"So good," he said, pulling her head down to kiss her hard on the mouth.
He was already a little shivery, which told her this would be over quickly. So as she started to move on him, she pulled the t-shirt over her head. Now there was no barrier at all between them. His eyes eagerly skimmed over the curves of her breasts as she leaned over him a little and started to move faster, thrust more forcefully. Eventually, he stretched his head up to meet her torso, to lave his tongue over one of her nipples as she made shallow thrusts, keeping him deep, which she knew would be very much appreciated but not an instantaneous path to orgasm for him. For her, it was grinding pressure into her g-spot and making her clit throb.
She reached down to touch herself, something he generally had no objection to, but tonight he brushed her hand out of the way and started using his thumb to make insistent circles over her clit. He watched her expression, knowing exactly when he hit the right angle and rhythm, not just from months of being her lover but from seeing her mouth fall open and hearing her whine.
"Don't stop," she said.
"Close?"
"Yes. Fuck, Michael, you're gonna make me come."
"Please."
She looked down into his eyes and saw that he was right on the edge, too. All he'd need would be to give her a few long, hard thrusts.
So she said, "Fuck me."
"Samira," he muttered, his voice tense.
"Put me on my back if you—"
At that, he held her hips firmly, not stopping the way she was rolling down and against him but preparing her for the force of his thrusts meeting hers.
"Yes," she cried out. "Shit, Michael. Fuck. Yes. Yes yes yes, just—"
His thumb dug in against her clit and she let out a long, ragged groan as she came. He was only a couple of short, sharp strokes behind her. She shuddered with pleasure to feel him spend hot into her.
They rocked together for a long moment. Before he pulled out, he held her tight to his chest, his breath in her ear.
"You are my everything," he murmured. "I don't know if I tell you that enough."
She clung to him, desperate to feel her chest against his, her arms against the warm skin of his back, her face against his thick neck.
"You do," she whispered. "I love you."
After she went to clean herself up a little, she came back to find him just where she'd left him. It was too early for them to go to sleep, but he was happily lounging there, naked and looking up at her through those long eyelashes, fond and maybe even a little turned on still, in spite of the pretty overwhelming pair of orgasms they'd just had.
She stopped short of the bed.
"You really liked the underwear, huh?" she said.
He giggled. "Oh yeah."
"Was it the color or the cut or the—"
"Lace," he said with a nod. "I mean, the cut I like, too. Makes your hips look amazing. But the lace…" He raised his eyebrows, then he added, "Can't be comfortable, though."
"It's not for being comfortable in."
"No?"
"Underwear like that is mostly for taking off. Expeditiously."
"Then I failed, huh?"
"Maybe, but I can't remember the last time I felt as sexy as I did just a little while ago with my mouth on you and my ass in the air where you couldn't reach it."
He groaned a little and held out his hand. She indulged him and took it, which resulted in her being pulled onto the bed and into his lap. His arms came around her middle. He had this way of being a little possessive when there was no particular reason, just something inside him that needed to feel like she was really his. He held her tight and dropped kisses on her shoulders. One hand eventually came up to trace the curve of her breasts.
She asked, "Were you actually planning on talking me into sex before we even got started, or were you full of shit about that?"
He snorted. "Of course. Don't get me wrong, you know I like to feel your mouth on me. But I wanted you closer than that."
Tonight and every night. Both of them, actually. Honestly, they had a tendency to neglect oral because they couldn't easily lean in for a kiss or get wrapped up in each others' arms.
"Well," she said, "unless you're ready to go to sleep now, maybe we should relocate this cuddling to the living room."
"I was gonna watch the baseball game."
"I know. Am I gonna get in the way of that somehow in your lap?"
He gave her a surprised smile, then he said, "Nope. But what are you gonna do?"
"Catch up on my reading."
"Articles, you mean."
"More interesting than baseball."
"We'll see," he responded with an eyeroll.
She sprawled on the bed, watching him redress himself against the chill in the house, and she understood a little of that possessive impulse. She wanted to press herself close to him to stay.
When he had shrugged back into his boxers and t-shirt and sleep pants, he looked down at her, still naked on the bed.
"You're gonna be cold if you come out there like that," he said.
She had intended, of course, to get dressed, too, but something about the look in his eyes and the buzz of satisfaction and lingering arousal in her body made her want to press her luck.
"There's blankets. And you'll keep me warm."
He rolled his eyes, but then he grinned and said, "How warm?"
"How many innings do you think you could make it petting me all over, nice and easy, occasionally hitting the good spots?"
"Nine," he said immediately, that spark of obstinacy showing in his eyes. "The better question is how many can you?"
"We'll see, I guess."
He reached out his hand to pull her up and off the bed.
"Okay, even better question: What's got you so stirred up on a random Thursday night?"
She shrugged and pressed her free hand to his chest.
"Have you seen my boyfriend? Tall guy, broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper beard, big brown eyes, and, like, enormous hands that always know just what they're doing."
He snorted, turning away from her to hide what she would bet money was a low-level blush as he pulled her down the hallway to the living room.