Title: Someone to Hold Me
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, as usual
Summary: Future-fic, no spoilers though. Potentially AU. A domesticated night in with our favourite couple.
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at posting anything, so please be patient with me. Rating is very much M, please look away if you're not old enough! This is dedicated to Sarah for being my inspiration and my support – you'll probably never see this but if you do, this is for you.
He's cooking again tonight. I love it when he cooks; he gets that same serious, completely involved expression on his face as he does when he's writing, or making love to me. There's something erotic about watching him in the kitchen...irritating when I have to ask him the same question three times before he hears me, or when he ignores the telephone, doorbell, mobile because he just doesn't hear them, but I knew he was like that before I married him. It's one of the reasons I love him so much; when he does something, he does it with every part of his being.
I wander into the kitchen fresh from my shower, my hair hanging damp down my back, wearing my little silky pyjama set he brought me for Christmas. Everyone seems to think that after 10 years we shouldn't be like this anymore, but I still like to wear the clothes he buys me, and he still likes to buy me clothes. Contrary to popular opinion, it's not all from Ann Summers, either! Sure, there's a couple of pieces in the back of the wardrobe which only come out on very special occasions (namely the schoolgirl outfit and the barely there one which he found extremely sexy until that Vice case) but in general it's all about comfort now. He still appreciates the way my body looks, and to me that's all that counts. He doesn't even see me walk in; he's so involved in his cooking. I walk up behind him and slip my arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder gently. I ask if he wants some wine getting out and he smiles, turning to kiss me quickly and telling me that there's already a bottle in the fridge. As he serves the dinner, I move around the kitchen, setting the table and pouring us both a glass of wine. He smiles to see that I've set our places next to each other, rather than facing. Some nights I like to feel his closeness while we eat... Lanie calls us sickening but some nights just knowing he's my husband isn't enough, I have to feel the coolness of his wedding band against my fingers, or feel his thumb tracing mine absently while we eat. And he knows that when I'm in this mood, especially if he's cooked seafood, that we're likely to spend the night making love over...and over...and over. Sometimes I tease him, when he's completely engrossed in cooking, or his writing, and ask him if I should be jealous that they get the same amount of intense concentration as I do when we make love. He just laughs and points out that they only get his attention for a couple of hours at a time, whereas together we can go on for hours. Someone told me once that after I'd been married a couple of years I'd be lucky if we managed sex once a week...we still manage it at least four times a week after ten years. People don't understand our mentality; both of us are so physical that sex is our way of communicating half the time. If he's stressed, or angry, or even feeling affectionate and loving, it comes through in the way we have sex. And judging by the way he's stroking the inside of my wrist, softly and almost absently, I think tonight is going to be a long, slow, intense session.
I go to move once we've finished, reaching out to pick up the plates. He stops me, pushing me back gently into my chair. He tells me to leave it, his fingers sliding between mine. Pointing out it won't matter for once if we don't wash up, he gently rests his hand against my jaw, pulling me close and kissing me softly. I smile against his lips; it goes against all reason to leave it, when it takes just five minutes to rinse everything off and load the dishwasher, but who am I to argue if my husband would rather concentrate solely on me. I look up at him, and feel my breath catch in my throat at the intensity of his look. It's like he's memorising every feature of my face. I try to break the tension by asking if he's just noticed how old I'm looking now, but he stops my sentence halfway through by pressing his lips against mine, sliding his tongue into my mouth and seeking my tongue out, teasing it. I respond instantly, my arms coming up around his neck as I kiss him back hard, both of us trying to gain the upper hand. Eventually we have to pull away, our breath coming in harsh gasps. I ask him where that came from, and he shrugs, gently catching hold of my hand to pull me upright, before leading me into the living room.
Despite the fact that we both know tonight is going to end with sex, we settle down in our usual places on the sofa; me tucked into the corner with my legs over his. He gently massages my calves as I flick through the telly programmes. But tonight our routine feels forced, and I quickly flick the television off, swinging my legs down and moving to straddle his hips. He glances up at me, slightly surprised but with that knowing smile just tugging at the corner of his lips. Leaning forward, I gently capture his lips with mine, kissing him lightly. I love it when we start with a make-out session; we both know the rules, starting slow and letting the intensity build up naturally. It leads to the best orgasms I've ever experienced, and that's saying something when we have sex so often. Kissing me slowly, he gradually moves until I'm lying on the sofa, with his weight resting over me, his arms braced on the arm of the sofa through fear of hurting me, even now. He can tolerate me taking charge for a little while, but inside him there's a strong macho side which likes to think it can take charge. I let it...sometimes. I know he likes it when I take control, riding him hard, but we always finish with him on top. And yet, little things like taking his weight on his arms so I'm not hurt...that's what makes it different. Our lovemaking is often hard and rough; I've lost count of the number of times I've had to cover up suspicious bruises or not been able to walk properly the next day, but underlying it all is this gentleness.
I moan softly as he draws his lips down my neck, leaving a burning trail behind. He glances up at me and presses his fingers to my lips. I have a habit of rushing things once the kissing gets a little more intense; the feelings take me over and I just want to orgasm straight away. He's learnt how to calm me down, to make me appreciate how good it feels to just let it build gradually, but I still tend to crave that first release. Pulling back from my neck, he starts to kiss me lazily again, teasing my tongue with his, keeping it so light but with that intense edge to it. He smiles as he hears my breathing get heavier, and, pulling away again, he traces my lips with his fingertips. I smile slowly, pulling his finger between my lips and sucking slowly, dragging my tongue along the length of it and giggling softly as I hear him groan. He drags his damp fingers down my neck and is rewarded with a shiver. We both laugh softly, the teasing taking away that overwhelming need for me to come. Settling back down, the kisses begin again, this time with hands wandering over sides and backs. I wriggle slightly, letting his thigh slip between my legs, and sigh contentedly as it rubs against my clit, giving just enough pressure to tease without making me need more.
Soon though, kisses just aren't enough and my body begins to crave skin on skin contact. I start to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and he laughs softly at my efforts. Covering my hands with his, he slows me down, helping me undo the buttons before shrugging his shoulders to let the shirt fall. I take a moment to appreciate his chest, the slightly sculptured pecs leading down to a flattish stomach (even if I do tease him about getting chunky now, I really have no complaints) and that line of hair running down from his belly button and disappearing under his jeans, where I can feel his arousal pressing against my centre. I sit up slightly, forcing him to kneel, and place my hands on his shoulders. I slowly run my hands down his chest, taking my time, enjoying the gasps he makes as I circle his nipples with my fingernails. I know that whatever I do now I'll have to experience tenfold when he take control, but that's not why I do it. I love to feel his body under my hands, to feel his muscles move when he sucks in a breath or moves slightly. And I grin to myself as I very slowly trail my fingertips down that line of hair, and my body reacts as he sucks in a breath, causing his stomach muscles to tighten up considerably. I spend a while just trailing my fingers up and down that line until eventually he grabs my wrists, forcing me to move. Taking a few heavy breaths to regain control, he catches hold of the hem of my top, slowly drawing it over my head. I shake my hair back, knowing he'll appreciate my lack of underwear. He used to tease me about wanting to wear a bra, pointing out it was an unnecessary piece of material which hindered his access to my breasts, but I made the point that if I didn't wear a bra, anybody could see my breasts. That possessive side which he likes to think he keeps hidden flared up then, and he stopped the teasing. But I know he likes it when I go without one, and to be honest, it's a lot more comfortable to go without when I'm in my pyjamas. I'm rewarded with a groan as he trails his eyes over my body, and my stomach tightens further with the knowledge that even after ten years just the sight of me topless can arouse him so much. I tilt my head back with a sigh as he begins to tease one nipple with his fingertips, whilst pulling the other one between his lips slowly. Closing my eyes, I concentrate solely on the feelings he's creating, losing myself completely in it. I start to rock my hips instinctively, trying to create some friction between our bodies and he shifts, pinning me underneath him and withdrawing the solid heat of his thigh from between my legs, causing me to moan as I lose the pressure from my clit. Grinning, he returns his attention to my breasts, switching his mouth to the other side and beginning to palm my other breast. I moan breathlessly, arching my back and pressing into his hand, and in response he tugs my nipple between his teeth, pulling it gently. I squirm beneath him, sure he must be able to feel the heat coming from between my legs and beg him breathlessly for more. He slowly pulls away, pressing his hand flat against my stomach and pushing me flat again. I become conscious that we're still on the sofa, and suggest that perhaps we should move upstairs, but he covers my lips with his and any thoughts I had disappear in the intensity of the kiss. He grabs hold of my legs, pulling them tight around his waist, and thrusts firmly against me, mimicking the actions which he knows I'm craving. I groan weakly and try to move my legs, whilst instinctively thrusting my hips up against his. He stops suddenly and pulls away, and I feel a smile cross my lips as I realise he's gone too far, and is now having to fight his need to come. Reaching up, I start to rub the back of his neck, kissing his cheek gently and murmuring in Russian against his ear. He has no idea of what I'm saying, but over the years we've found this trick has worked many a time when he's got too worked up. He's not nineteen any more (or even twenty nine), and although he can still come three or four times in a night, it takes him longer to recover now, and I'm not prepared to wait that long. Eventually his breathing slows and he turns his head to kiss me gently. I know that those hard and fast feelings have dissipated now, and he's going to take me slow and gentle. I whisper against his ear that I don't want his fingers or his lips tonight, and he looks at me almost disappointed. I rub my hand lightly over the front of his jeans, feeling the strength of his erection, and tell him I want that, now. He groans softly, kissing me again whilst removing my hand, and asks if he can touch me afterwards. I smile, and point out he'll be fast asleep afterwards, but there's always tomorrow. We both laugh softly, and then he stands, offering me his hand. I take it, and together we head upstairs, stopping every so often for a slow kiss, unable to resist each other.
Lying me down on the bed, he runs his hands slowly down my sides, before catching hold of the waistband of my trousers and tugging them, together with my underwear, down. I bite my lip gently, feeling the intensity of his gaze, and slowly lift my eyes until we're looking at each other. He undoes his jeans slowly, gently easing both those and his boxers over his cock. I groan softly, unable to draw my eyes away from it; he's so big, and yet he's never scared me. He comes to me, covering my body with his and kissing me as he guides my legs open, settling down slowly. I can feel him pressing insistently at my opening, and instinctively I lift my hips slightly, trying to ease his way. He grips the base of his shaft firmly and presses into me, slipping comfortably inside me. We both groan; me from the initial feeling of his head pressing into me and opening me up, him from the pleasure of being inside me. I rock my hips up, and the age old rhythm begins to take us over. He draws my hands above my head and in response I lift my head, seeking his lips out with mine. He kisses me slowly as our hips rock together, and I whisper that I want him all. He groans softly in response, catching hold of my hips and slowly pulling me onto him. I whisper his name softly as he fills me completely, and lock my arms around his neck. Twelve years of dancing together and ten years of marriage take over now, our bodies instinctively moving together, touching all those spots which make our lovemaking so intense. I hear his breathing change and feel his cock hardening more inside me, and I know he's reached that point of no return. I tighten my stomach muscles in response, increasing the tension around his cock, and in return he begins to rub my clit firmly. My muscles tighten even more, involuntarily this time, and I hear his cry against my ear as he comes deep inside me, at the same time as my orgasm explodes inside me, my body shaking as the force of it causes all my muscles to contract and relax, and stars to explode behind my eyes.
He sags against me, the tension seeping out of all his muscles as he finishes coming. I tighten my arms around him, cradling him to my body, and this is where I repay his kindness. He's gentle with me before and during sex, never pushing me too far, always concerned that a wrong move could hurt me, and in return I cradle him after sex, hold him close as we catch our breath, and give him that reassurance that I'm never going to leave him. For all his macho behaviour, deep down there's still an innocent little boy who never thinks he's going to be good enough for me. I brush his hair from his forehead and kiss him lightly, before using the last of my strength to roll us onto our sides. I moan softly, disappointed, as he softens and slips out of me, but I can still feel his warmth inside me. He pushes my arm gently and I roll over, smiling as his arms tighten around my waist and his lips press to my shoulder. He always intends to give me more but I don't mind. He'll make up for it in the morning.
A/N: Feedback greatly appreciated! xxx