More masturbation fic
May. 17th, 2006 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowCrossposted to the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
farscapefriday for the Spanking the Monkey Challenge.
Selfish
He wonders if it's really masturbation if he's part of the circuit, part of the feedback loop of keeping her safe.
Chi's got her small, bony body pressed tight to his chest, fingers working vigorously between her thighs as he strokes her hair, presses damp lips to her neck. He can feel the salt heat of her tears when she turns her cheek, the tiny whimpers that sound more like frustration than joy. He takes them in, holds her shoulder, doesn't interfere in her range of motion. Waking up pressed close to a girl bringing herself off isn't exactly brave new worlds for him, but it isn't an everyday occurrence either and if she'd wanted his participation, he's guessing she'd have asked. But clearly, she doesn't mind that he's here, had fit herself under his chin, pulled his thigh closer when he made to subtly move away, so he's hanging on for her ride.
He's half-hard against her, but it's easy, lazy, nothing urgent, his erection pressing against the constraint of his leather pants and her slim back. He'd prefer it stay that way. The last girl with an eye for his dick had used and abused the privilege, and frankly, he's wary as all hell. There's not enough hot water in the world to wash off Grayza's touch and a little friction between friends surely won't do any harm.
With a grunt and a sigh, Chi flops onto her back, hitting him in the chest with her elbow. Her face is streaky, pale and tacky with her tears. Her mouth is ebony, flush and flat, looking for something to hit. She sniffles and he tries to curl back around her, to hold her close. He smells sex and fluids, thinks she smells sweeter than human girls, tangier than Sebaceans, wonders if it's all Nebari, or just Chi's own girl smell.
"Can't…" her voice is a thready whimper, anger and fear. "Can't come."
The bed is small for two people, unless they can twist and twine, play nice. Hasn't been much of a problem. Aeryn rarely stayed the night, and Chi is all silly putty and unnatural angles. He's got no place to put his surprise, his pity or his empathy. He doesn't figure his erection is much of a problem.
She touches his hip and he can't help think where that hand's been. Sweat beads on his forehead, his lower hip.
"Wanna help?" she hitches.
He kisses the top of her head.
"Maybe not…" he murmurs. "But maybe."
He doesn't know if he can touch her like that. He likes her clean chalky smell, her sweet sweat, her heat in his bed. He doesn't want to lose his innocence, doesn't want to lose his fantasies. She isn't Aeryn. She's not Alex or Caroline or Luanne Johnson or Kim or Karen Shaw. She's his little lost girl and the thought of slipping his fingers over her body, of doing it with intent is possibly a little more than he can bear.
"Tell me a story…" she whispers.
"Once upon a time," he starts," there were three bears…"
"About sex," she interrupts, "Tell me a story about sex."
Doesn't want bodies then, wants words. "Chi…"
She twists her fingers against his thigh, bumps her head against his chin. Is it sex if he's telling and not showing? Is he complicit if he can bring her off without actually touching her? And hell, what kind of tale can he spin that she can't top.
"Tell me what you like," she breathes, trying for sex kitten, falling short.
"No," he sighs.
"Tell me what you like to do," she murmurs.
"No," he says, softer now.
"Breasts," she says, "I know you like breasts, and mouths, and eemas."
"Skin," he's resigned. "I like cool skin, I like the taste of salt at the bend of an elbow, the sweetness on the edge of the mouth, the musk at the base of the neck, the way the skin on a woman's inner thigh is so frelling soft."
He recites a litany for her, soft and rhythmic, steers her through strong thighs and nimble hands and cool mouths and never mentions names, doesn't talk about the things that he has learned to do with his tongue, the angles he's explored, the horizons he's broadened. He finds metaphor a useful tool, finds his own useful tool hardening under the onslaught of figurative language, clutches against the golden sheeting as Chi steals her own nimble fingers back between her thighs.
He tells her about a night on a false earth, about rain and dark hair stroking along his neck, about the way his hands fit perfectly in the small of a back, the way he rocked up and forward, meeting downward thrusts, parrying his tongue against a questing, demanding mouth.
He tells her about stroking into a waiting body, about leverage and weight, about pillows under slim, curved hips, and the arch of a spine as he holds a wet sex from behind, as he battered them both against a scratchy coverlet. He tells her finally about the pounding of rain, of dozing on top of the covers, spent and scared, bodies overlapping, sticky and still and silent.
He doesn't mention names, doesn't say Earth, or Aeryn, hell can barely even say rain out loud, just says this and that, slip and slide, cock and cunt, fuck and frell and she's happy with his fairy tale in the dark.
He won't give her more relevant moments, times spent on Moya, laughter and sex on equal footing, fights and frelling, and figuring out where they stood. He won't give her anything that smacks of love. It's desperation she needs to bring her off these days, and he gives her what he can. Lord knows he's got enough to go around.
She sighs finally, eyes closed, breathing shallow, hands stilling and he shifts to get comfortable. He's not hard any longer, the sense-memory of rain washing him clean, but he'd like to get up, go into his shower, scrub himself raw and think of wide smiles and dark hair and sex that turned into love.
farscapefriday for the Spanking the Monkey Challenge.Selfish
He wonders if it's really masturbation if he's part of the circuit, part of the feedback loop of keeping her safe.
Chi's got her small, bony body pressed tight to his chest, fingers working vigorously between her thighs as he strokes her hair, presses damp lips to her neck. He can feel the salt heat of her tears when she turns her cheek, the tiny whimpers that sound more like frustration than joy. He takes them in, holds her shoulder, doesn't interfere in her range of motion. Waking up pressed close to a girl bringing herself off isn't exactly brave new worlds for him, but it isn't an everyday occurrence either and if she'd wanted his participation, he's guessing she'd have asked. But clearly, she doesn't mind that he's here, had fit herself under his chin, pulled his thigh closer when he made to subtly move away, so he's hanging on for her ride.
He's half-hard against her, but it's easy, lazy, nothing urgent, his erection pressing against the constraint of his leather pants and her slim back. He'd prefer it stay that way. The last girl with an eye for his dick had used and abused the privilege, and frankly, he's wary as all hell. There's not enough hot water in the world to wash off Grayza's touch and a little friction between friends surely won't do any harm.
With a grunt and a sigh, Chi flops onto her back, hitting him in the chest with her elbow. Her face is streaky, pale and tacky with her tears. Her mouth is ebony, flush and flat, looking for something to hit. She sniffles and he tries to curl back around her, to hold her close. He smells sex and fluids, thinks she smells sweeter than human girls, tangier than Sebaceans, wonders if it's all Nebari, or just Chi's own girl smell.
"Can't…" her voice is a thready whimper, anger and fear. "Can't come."
The bed is small for two people, unless they can twist and twine, play nice. Hasn't been much of a problem. Aeryn rarely stayed the night, and Chi is all silly putty and unnatural angles. He's got no place to put his surprise, his pity or his empathy. He doesn't figure his erection is much of a problem.
She touches his hip and he can't help think where that hand's been. Sweat beads on his forehead, his lower hip.
"Wanna help?" she hitches.
He kisses the top of her head.
"Maybe not…" he murmurs. "But maybe."
He doesn't know if he can touch her like that. He likes her clean chalky smell, her sweet sweat, her heat in his bed. He doesn't want to lose his innocence, doesn't want to lose his fantasies. She isn't Aeryn. She's not Alex or Caroline or Luanne Johnson or Kim or Karen Shaw. She's his little lost girl and the thought of slipping his fingers over her body, of doing it with intent is possibly a little more than he can bear.
"Tell me a story…" she whispers.
"Once upon a time," he starts," there were three bears…"
"About sex," she interrupts, "Tell me a story about sex."
Doesn't want bodies then, wants words. "Chi…"
She twists her fingers against his thigh, bumps her head against his chin. Is it sex if he's telling and not showing? Is he complicit if he can bring her off without actually touching her? And hell, what kind of tale can he spin that she can't top.
"Tell me what you like," she breathes, trying for sex kitten, falling short.
"No," he sighs.
"Tell me what you like to do," she murmurs.
"No," he says, softer now.
"Breasts," she says, "I know you like breasts, and mouths, and eemas."
"Skin," he's resigned. "I like cool skin, I like the taste of salt at the bend of an elbow, the sweetness on the edge of the mouth, the musk at the base of the neck, the way the skin on a woman's inner thigh is so frelling soft."
He recites a litany for her, soft and rhythmic, steers her through strong thighs and nimble hands and cool mouths and never mentions names, doesn't talk about the things that he has learned to do with his tongue, the angles he's explored, the horizons he's broadened. He finds metaphor a useful tool, finds his own useful tool hardening under the onslaught of figurative language, clutches against the golden sheeting as Chi steals her own nimble fingers back between her thighs.
He tells her about a night on a false earth, about rain and dark hair stroking along his neck, about the way his hands fit perfectly in the small of a back, the way he rocked up and forward, meeting downward thrusts, parrying his tongue against a questing, demanding mouth.
He tells her about stroking into a waiting body, about leverage and weight, about pillows under slim, curved hips, and the arch of a spine as he holds a wet sex from behind, as he battered them both against a scratchy coverlet. He tells her finally about the pounding of rain, of dozing on top of the covers, spent and scared, bodies overlapping, sticky and still and silent.
He doesn't mention names, doesn't say Earth, or Aeryn, hell can barely even say rain out loud, just says this and that, slip and slide, cock and cunt, fuck and frell and she's happy with his fairy tale in the dark.
He won't give her more relevant moments, times spent on Moya, laughter and sex on equal footing, fights and frelling, and figuring out where they stood. He won't give her anything that smacks of love. It's desperation she needs to bring her off these days, and he gives her what he can. Lord knows he's got enough to go around.
She sighs finally, eyes closed, breathing shallow, hands stilling and he shifts to get comfortable. He's not hard any longer, the sense-memory of rain washing him clean, but he'd like to get up, go into his shower, scrub himself raw and think of wide smiles and dark hair and sex that turned into love.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 12:14 am (UTC)That was freaking beautiful.
Seriously my friend, you have a way with words and these characters...
That was about physicallity but SO MUCH more. A connection that goes beyond that, that doesn't need to be about that....and then it wraps around to deal with connections and relationships that ARE about that...and much, much more.
Beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 03:37 am (UTC)I wish I had an Aeryn-scented comfy blanket to snuggle him up in.
seva
no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 06:37 am (UTC)He doesn't mention names, doesn't say Earth, or Aeryn, hell can barely even say rain out loud, just says this and that, slip and slide, cock and cunt, fuck and frell and she's happy with his fairy tale in the dark.
**sigh** I so wish I'd written that. It's excellent, as is the whole fic.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-02 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-05 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 01:39 am (UTC)I really enjoyed this. Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-22 05:48 am (UTC)