[ maybe she's less qualified to really be able to sense all the obvious indicators of life beneath her fingertips; he's warm and willing enough, and in the end, that might be the only thing that matters, the only thing she's really caught up with in terms of using him to scratch an itch — at least, that's how she'll justify it to herself after, by the time they're both panting side-by-side.
she's prepared, almost hoping for him to let her take the lead here, to be okay with her just pinning him down into the mattress and steering them in the direction she wants to be in — but when he puts hands on her, an unexpectedly wide spread of fingers across the curve of her back, it's warm on her skin and she arches into him before she can stop herself, fingers sliding up and into the thick tufts of his hair as he drops his mouth to the edge of her jawline.
and for a second she forgets that she wants to hurry this along, wants to skip right ahead to the good stuff; she just rocks down and against him instead, breathes a sigh, and dips her head back enough to wordlessly encourage him to keep going as far as putting his mouth on her goes, wanting to feel the heated presses there down the curve of her neck and the hollow of her throat, the plane of her chest leadingn down to the swells of her breasts beneath her bra. ]
[ he's running on instincts here, following where his lips take him and, more importantly, where she urges him to go. he's never been an expert at this, not at sex and especially not at beaming with confidence when it comes to steering it along. but at the very least, he's good at giving things plenty of attention.
because he's definitely good at listening; she may not be the breeze of the woods, leaving hints of tracks and pathways with birdsong, but he can hear the way she breathes, his head tilted just enough for his ear to hover close to her chest, the beat of her heart urging him on. it's that which he guides himself on, to follow on what she likes.
and when she stretches back her neck, arching with an invitation to her chest, he can't deny the intent to descend further, open mouthed kisses painting trails along the lines of her collar, soft pale skin tasting sweet on his lips. giving a slow tug to her bra strap, he glides it down her arm but doesn't proceed beyond that, just giving himself enough room to bring his mouth to the height of her breast, suckling gently at the softer skin there peeking out from behind the cup. ]
[ at some point, it always stops being about needing to make it look good anyway; all that matters now is what feels good, and right now, to her own surprise, somehow everything they've stumbled into is existing right in that space between good and fucking great.
really, the biggest sign he should have that she's liking what he's doing is the fact that he's managed to rob her of her words, because any time she's running her mouth off it's a big sign that she's not distracted enough by what's going on and just starts to feel the compulsion to fill what she perceives as an awkward silence.
but here, there's nothing but gasps to guide him, hitches in her breathing, and she tilts her chin down just enough because she wants to watch his mouth traversing her skin with those slow and eager kisses, the surprising fullness of his lips parting against the rise of her breast. without saying anything at all, she reaches behind herself to fiddle with the clasp before the sides give way across her back, and when she slips the bra away from her form, plucks it away and lets it drop somewhere sight unseen, there's tacit permission in that single action for him to touch and kiss as much of her as he wants to, her hands smoothing up the lithe lengths of his arms because she likes the feeling of skin under her fingers just as much. ]
[ the lack of conversation might be good for his sake, mostly because he's never been all too good at speech in the first place and if she tried to ease him towards enacting some sexy talk, he'd inevitably trip all over himself, nervousness rolling into an enlarged ball of awkwardness, ready to blow the entire thing into a disaster.
but he's comfortable with the signals he is receiving, turned on a bit just by the way she breathes, that he's somehow prompted those noises from her mouth, exciting him towards hearing more of them as he selfishly enjoys the taste of her skin against his lips.
momentarily distracted with his own task, he doesn't immediately notice the removal of her bra until he feels the shift of her arms and the peeling of that fabric before it's discarded freely to the ground, left to the full form of her breasts right before his face, with the evident invitation that he's welcome to keep going. rather than let himself overthink his steps, he moves on his instincts, on what her breathes tell him, on what his body desires, and he reaches up to cup one in his palm, giving it a light massage, feeling that pleasant swell beneath his hold before he presses his thumb to the skin beneath her nipple, tipping it upward so he can better catch it between his lips, lapping it with a firm tongue. ]
[ it really doesn't even matter why neither of them is talking right now, because she's also learned that the second she opens her mouth therein lies the potential for disaster, for something so obviously fumbled that she's not sure she can always pick it up and recover (or whatever bad sports metaphor she's trying to come up with). better to just avoid it altogether, and besides, she can think of something better for his mouth to do.
the good news is she doesn't need to tell him that; whether he's done this plenty before or not (a subject she isn't going to get into now of all times), some things are just instinctual, and the fact that she's all but shoving her chest in his face is an easy enough signal for him to pick up on.
what she isn't prepared for is her reaction to it, the way he bends low to meet her and then parts his lips for his tongue to basically give that sensitive peak a lashing; her knees tighten at his hips and she arches, breathing a gasp overhead as her fingers slide up and into his dark hair. he has no way of knowing that he's stumbled across a livewire of sensitivity that's going to make the ache between her legs even more intense, but her response might make that plenty obvious, not to mention the blatant rocking of her hips as she drops her weight against him for that added friction. ]
[ sometimes, there comes a bit of a debate in his head on what to do or where to go next when it comes to sex, occasionally overwhelmed by so much naked skin and the escalating arousal quickening the pumping of his blood, with a distracting pounding of his heart beating surprisingly hard within his chest (considering how hard it's become to hear it otherwise since his brief meeting with death).
but he's thankful for how easy she makes it, how she's guiding him along in a way that isn't necessarily so step by step as to make him feel like an idiot, but just enough to send out the signals of what she wants, what lights her up on the inside.
because while he knows he needs to get his mouth on her breast, it's the tell tale signals that come afterwards that really pull him along — the curving arch of her chest, the grasping fingers to his hair strands, the clamping grip of her body at his hips. neither wanting to disappoint her after getting all of that nor wanting to sacrifice the taste of her skin on his lips, he nudges his mouth more firmly on the soft mound, continuing to suck on the tender bud, the wet press of his tongue massaging to coax that quickened breath.
reaching down, he grips for her hips, not to stop them from moving — no way in hell he'd do that now — but to feel that rocking shift, that grinding contact, making it all the more obvious in pinpointing the hard line of his stiffening erection. ]
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no subject
she's prepared, almost hoping for him to let her take the lead here, to be okay with her just pinning him down into the mattress and steering them in the direction she wants to be in — but when he puts hands on her, an unexpectedly wide spread of fingers across the curve of her back, it's warm on her skin and she arches into him before she can stop herself, fingers sliding up and into the thick tufts of his hair as he drops his mouth to the edge of her jawline.
and for a second she forgets that she wants to hurry this along, wants to skip right ahead to the good stuff; she just rocks down and against him instead, breathes a sigh, and dips her head back enough to wordlessly encourage him to keep going as far as putting his mouth on her goes, wanting to feel the heated presses there down the curve of her neck and the hollow of her throat, the plane of her chest leadingn down to the swells of her breasts beneath her bra. ]
no subject
because he's definitely good at listening; she may not be the breeze of the woods, leaving hints of tracks and pathways with birdsong, but he can hear the way she breathes, his head tilted just enough for his ear to hover close to her chest, the beat of her heart urging him on. it's that which he guides himself on, to follow on what she likes.
and when she stretches back her neck, arching with an invitation to her chest, he can't deny the intent to descend further, open mouthed kisses painting trails along the lines of her collar, soft pale skin tasting sweet on his lips. giving a slow tug to her bra strap, he glides it down her arm but doesn't proceed beyond that, just giving himself enough room to bring his mouth to the height of her breast, suckling gently at the softer skin there peeking out from behind the cup. ]
no subject
really, the biggest sign he should have that she's liking what he's doing is the fact that he's managed to rob her of her words, because any time she's running her mouth off it's a big sign that she's not distracted enough by what's going on and just starts to feel the compulsion to fill what she perceives as an awkward silence.
but here, there's nothing but gasps to guide him, hitches in her breathing, and she tilts her chin down just enough because she wants to watch his mouth traversing her skin with those slow and eager kisses, the surprising fullness of his lips parting against the rise of her breast. without saying anything at all, she reaches behind herself to fiddle with the clasp before the sides give way across her back, and when she slips the bra away from her form, plucks it away and lets it drop somewhere sight unseen, there's tacit permission in that single action for him to touch and kiss as much of her as he wants to, her hands smoothing up the lithe lengths of his arms because she likes the feeling of skin under her fingers just as much. ]
no subject
but he's comfortable with the signals he is receiving, turned on a bit just by the way she breathes, that he's somehow prompted those noises from her mouth, exciting him towards hearing more of them as he selfishly enjoys the taste of her skin against his lips.
momentarily distracted with his own task, he doesn't immediately notice the removal of her bra until he feels the shift of her arms and the peeling of that fabric before it's discarded freely to the ground, left to the full form of her breasts right before his face, with the evident invitation that he's welcome to keep going. rather than let himself overthink his steps, he moves on his instincts, on what her breathes tell him, on what his body desires, and he reaches up to cup one in his palm, giving it a light massage, feeling that pleasant swell beneath his hold before he presses his thumb to the skin beneath her nipple, tipping it upward so he can better catch it between his lips, lapping it with a firm tongue. ]
no subject
the good news is she doesn't need to tell him that; whether he's done this plenty before or not (a subject she isn't going to get into now of all times), some things are just instinctual, and the fact that she's all but shoving her chest in his face is an easy enough signal for him to pick up on.
what she isn't prepared for is her reaction to it, the way he bends low to meet her and then parts his lips for his tongue to basically give that sensitive peak a lashing; her knees tighten at his hips and she arches, breathing a gasp overhead as her fingers slide up and into his dark hair. he has no way of knowing that he's stumbled across a livewire of sensitivity that's going to make the ache between her legs even more intense, but her response might make that plenty obvious, not to mention the blatant rocking of her hips as she drops her weight against him for that added friction. ]
no subject
but he's thankful for how easy she makes it, how she's guiding him along in a way that isn't necessarily so step by step as to make him feel like an idiot, but just enough to send out the signals of what she wants, what lights her up on the inside.
because while he knows he needs to get his mouth on her breast, it's the tell tale signals that come afterwards that really pull him along — the curving arch of her chest, the grasping fingers to his hair strands, the clamping grip of her body at his hips. neither wanting to disappoint her after getting all of that nor wanting to sacrifice the taste of her skin on his lips, he nudges his mouth more firmly on the soft mound, continuing to suck on the tender bud, the wet press of his tongue massaging to coax that quickened breath.
reaching down, he grips for her hips, not to stop them from moving — no way in hell he'd do that now — but to feel that rocking shift, that grinding contact, making it all the more obvious in pinpointing the hard line of his stiffening erection. ]