Warning: Profanity, crude humor, and sex.
A/N: Am I still considered a writer anymore? Here, have some cute smut while I figure this shit out.
Note: This maybe takes place in their early college years? For once, I have no definite sense of continuity.
Her presence in his bed was a gift, while her sighs were music to his ears.
As Nikki embraced Jonesy—with one arm on his back and a hand running through his blue hair—he kissed her smiling and moaning lips. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist so, for fun, he bucked harder.
She broke the kiss by exclaiming his name, then making sure she didn't yell it too loud. His parents and siblings were in the house tonight, but that was never much of a deterrent for him, not anymore. He was in college now; he was (barely) a man who made his own decisions, which was why he decided to slide his hands up her T-shirt. Technically, he owned the shirt, but he loved the way she claimed it at night, wearing it like a short nightdress.
Her cheeks flushed even redder (if possible) as he fondled her, causing him to smirk. Whenever they were intimate, her cheeks frequently flushed cherry-red, her pink lips swelled from too many hard kisses, her hair became a purple mess, and her brown eyes gazed at him with love and longing. She was vibrant, covered in endless colors. He thought of her as art, but he didn't know how to say it without sounding too cheesy, too trite.
Instead he said, "Have I ever told you that you're really hot when you look at me like that?"
"Plenty of times," she said, her brown eyes half-lidded and her grin small. "But I don't mind hearing it."
"And I don't mind hearing you say my name again," he said, moving suddenly and deeper.
Even though she wanted to give in and say it, she denied him with a look of mischief. "What if I don't feel like it?"
He continued to move in that way, enticing her hips to move in sync with his. "Trust me—you're gonna say it."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Nope, 'cause it's gonna happen."
"We'll see about that."
"We will, won't we?"
He proceeded to plant sloppy, lingering kisses on her lips before moving towards her neck and shoulder, gently sucking her skin before working his way to her lips once more. Seeing that she kept her composure—not even gently moaning his name the way he wanted her to—he slid his hand south and played around, causing her to react in the ways he desired. She instantly sighed and became starry-eyed, boosting his ego.
He continued what he was doing as he kissed her neck.
"Oh, I can't stand you," she said, a moan following suit.
"Yet you're here… with me… in my room." He looked up. "And you're smiling."
"Ugh, Jonesy, stop making me contradict myself."
"Ha! You said my name!"
"But not in the way you wanted me to. That doesn't count!"
"Au contraire, babe. Au contraire," he purred, boasting his rusty knowledge of French. "I win."
She rolled her eyes before asking, "What exactly did you hope to win?"
He pondered her question. "Hmm… You on top of me sounds like a good prize, don't you think?"
As she let his words sink in, her aloof stare became a warm gaze. "I'm not adversed to that idea."
"Me neither." He gripped her hips, planning to roll the two of them over and switch positions. "I say we make it happen."
While he thought they had more space on his bed, he misjudged how far they would roll, causing them to fall off his bed and onto the carpet, onto each other.
As soon as they hit the floor, landing on top of the clothes they'd shed earlier, they both groaned, taking a moment to recollect themselves.
"Oops," he said. "Got a little carried away."
"No kidding. That was a wild ride," she deadpanned, a snort punctuating her dry statement.
"Yeah, not the kind of ride I was hoping for." He smirked, wagging his eyebrows at her, hoping she would catch his (lewd) drift.
"Keep saying shit like that out loud and you may not get ridden at all."
Though he was unable to tell whether she was joking or serious, he found himself entranced by her and the way she reseted above him so calm and collectedly. He then disregarded whether he would sound cheesy or trite by speaking his mind, seeing that she was always so outright and bold in whatever she said and did. (He was definitely bold, just not the overtly sentimental kind of bold.) "What if I said that you're a work of art instead?"
Her pink lips curled into a smile. "Not that I don't like it, but where'd that one come from?"
"I dunno. You're just… really colorful. I think you're beautiful like the art at those exhibits you drag me to. You're pale, purple, pink, red, brown—you're every color and you're bold. Not to mention, you're amazing to look at. I can't really explain it without sounding wack; I just love everything about you."
As she stroked her index finger across his chest, her brown eyes filled with life. "You've obviously been paying attention to those exhibits I've dragged you to."
He winked. "It's my keen attention to detail."
She rolled her eyes once more. "Sure, let's call it that. So… you think I'm a work of art, huh?"
"You're so many things, babe. Art's only one of them."
Her cheeks flushed light pink while she straddled him. "You know, I don't think the galleries we've gone to have a portrait of you begging for me on this floor."
"No, they don't. They should, though."
She ran a hand through her tousled purple hair and licked her lips. "Looks like we have to fix that."
He purred with a stupid grin on his face, amazed at how she sat atop him, the light from his television allowing him to see her and her alluring face better. "Do what you want with me, Nik. I'm all yours."
She leaned over and brought her lips close to his, but instead of kissing him, she said, "Perfect."
A/N: So, while I left you with playful, flirty smut, I figured out two things: 1.) I'm still a writer and 2.) I love these two dorks. Bye.