Hubert and Pascal's Second Adventure
Disclaimer: Nope, nope, nope.
Summary: Some things begin and end with love but all things begin and end with Hubert's abject mortification. The thing is, though, the cat's got to come out of the bag sometime. M for porn.
An: Let's see, where'd I put my shame…nope, can't find it. Sorry.
Yeah, so this is totally a sequel to Hubert and Pascal's Excellent Adventure.
Contrary to popular belief, Pascal is not an idiot. Contrary to very popular belief, Hubert Oswell is also not an idiot, even though it takes longer to convince people of that statement than the first. It's just…
Pascal doesn't always understand the things that go through Hubert's mind and if she doesn't, she sure as shootin' knows that the rest of the world's even more clueless. The thing that makes Pascal different from the rest of the world, though, is that she asks. She doesn't pretend to understand him because Hubert's weird as crap and she knows this, and Pascal doesn't know why the rest of the world doesn't get it either.
Some people are also afraid of Hubert, which is patently ridiculous. She's biased (more than a bit biased, actually), but still. There's nothing to be afraid of in him, not unless you're afraid of being serious'd to death, but the way they act…
It's no wonder why he's such a stiff sometimes.
Speaking of stiffs…
"You gonna be okay over there?" she asks and shifts closer to him where they sit together on the plush sofa in Hubert's home, the sofa that should be comfortable but isn't because Hubert's anxious and, while he won't ever admit, absolutely terrified. Oh, she knows that he told his father that he had rejected the president's daughter but not necessarily why, and Pascal knows that he's been working twice as hard to find his son a viable wife of relatively high standing, and Hubert can't take it. Can't take it anymore and that's why they're here.
He's not afraid of losing support, not really.
Hubert's been making his own decisions for a long, long time and he has a steady income and plenty of merit all on his own, but still, it has to be hard to look the person who raised you in the eye and break everything. Not that Pascal would know but she thinks of doing something like this to Fourier and it makes her heart hurt.
If Hubert's father is a good man, he'll be disappointed but accept it.
Pascal doesn't think that is how this is going to go and Hubert doesn't think so either, not if the way his fingers are scrabbling anxiously over the cushions is any indication. Pascal scoots closer until their thighs touch and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together and giving him a firm squeeze. She's here, she tells him in the silence, he's not alone.
Hubert tried to do this alone but Pascal was having none of it. She was a part of it just as much as he was and if Hubert thought for one second that she was going to let him go off and do something major like this without her, he had another thing coming. Even if she just sat there and let him speak (because no one ever just lets Hubert talk, that's kind of a problem), it'd be better than leaving him alone. She told him this before they left and eventually he gave in, because he does know how to do that every once in a while.
She knows like she knows the steadiest things that she and Hubert are nowhere near thinking of marriage, not yet. She loves him, certainly, that word that makes her heart beat fast and feel like she's coming home for the first time simultaneously, but nothing's set in stone and they both know it.
It's unconventional, especially for someone like him who has standing –not her, never her— but he's far too honorable and honest to do anything but. Pascal wouldn't have been offended (hurt but not offended) if he'd decided to keep his options open but the fact that he isn't, that he's closing them all to make room for her and just her, makes her love him all the more.
Hubert's fingers flex under hers and she gives him another squeeze to try and steady him.
"I'm okay," he mutters, and he's lying. Lying so badly and so obviously that it makes her a little bit angry.
Pascal doesn't know what it's like to have parents, just Fourier, so she doesn't really know what it's like to live in the kind of fear that Hubert's used to living in but it's enough to her that he's afraid, and she won't let him walk into this by himself.
The door opens and Hubert scrambles to his feet to blanket himself with the sort of military stoicism that Pascal hates so much. It doesn't suit him, not now that she's gotten to really know him. The Hubert she likes best is serious, yes, but there's a humor there too and a sensitivity that he likes to pretend that he doesn't have. It's that sensitivity that he protects with that stoicism because he's easily hurt and Pascal's not stupid, she knows that she's hurt him too and will again, but that doesn't mean that she's going to stand around and let someone bully him. Ever.
Pascal always greets Fourier with a hug; Hubert stands stiffly and extends his hand, and there's far too long of a pause before it's shaken in return. Just for that, Pascal resents Garrett Oswell.
"Hello, Father," he says and Pascal hates how his voice sounds, stiff and formal like he doesn't even know the person in front of him.
"What's this about, Hubert?" Garrett asks and checks the clock, "I'm expected in a meeting with the committee in twenty minutes. This truly cannot wait?"
Hubert straightens and throws a swift glance Pascal's way and she smiles at him, barely managing to keep from making a go-on gesture with her hands.
"No," he replies, "I'm afraid that it cannot."
There's a pause.
"Well? Spit it out then, boy."
Hubert draws himself up and chances a final look to Pascal and she tries to tell him that he doesn't have to do this, that it's fine if he doesn't want to, that she loves him just as much anyway even if they haven't said those words just yet. It's everything she has to not get up and step in front of him even though it's something she knows he has to do himself. Pascal wants to protect him anyway.
"I've come to inform you that you can stop your search in a betrothed for me. There is…there is no need for it."
There's a silence so heavy that Pascal wants to stagger and instead she watches the expressions flit across Garrett Oswell's face, shock to intrigue to irritation and back to shock. For the first time since entering, he turns to look at Pascal who looks right back at him. She's not ashamed.
"This is…a large bit of news," he says and goes right back to ignoring Pascal, because she doesn't matter. "You must give me the name of the girl, her family line, her father's standing, proof of agreement of betrothal—"
"No," Hubert interrupts, already looking slightly shaken, "No. Father, the thing is…I am not betrothed. But I will not be agreeing to anyone you choose for me in the future. Ever." His hands are trembling a little bit, Pascal notices and wants to reach out and take them, but this is his job and he has to do it, if not for her than for himself.
This can only be good for him, she thinks. It'll hurt but…Hubert's always been so intimidated by his adopted father, has this strange combination of fear and desperate need to please that she thinks stems from a clinging idea that there was something wrong with him. That he could be given away again, even though he's a grown man who can take care of himself. Pascal hates that part of him, hates that it exists in the first place.
Garrett's sputtering and Pascal hasn't been looking at him because she's been watching Hubert, but suddenly he's striding up to her, reaching out to grab her by her upper arm and haul her to her feet.
"Father!"
"Easy, easy there," Pascal makes a half-hearted attempt to cajole, and no wonder Hubert's got so many bats in the closet if this is the kind of thing he's used to, "Take it easy on the lady!"
"You have done this," Mr. Oswell snarls at her, "You have done this to him."
Pascal breathes. She's done nothing that she's ashamed of and even though Hubert protests, she waves him back.
"You bet," she answers with a snappy salute that she vindictively hopes has him seething, "Pleasure's all mine, sir. Or would 'pops' be better? …Dad?"
"Pascal!" And then Hubert's there, shoving himself between them as Pascal shakes off the heavy hand on her shoulder, "Father, stop!" Pascal can't see more than Hubert's back and shoulders but she's pretty sure she knows what the next silence means, a cold, quivering thing that makes even her think that this is a terrible idea.
"You will forget this folly," Garrett says eventually, calmer now, "You're young, trapped in the idiocy of youth. But it's time to grow up, Hubert. Forget your strumpet; I will find you a young lady who can do something for you. There's no need for this nonsense. This plea for attention is going too far."
Rude.
Seriously rude.
Pascal edges around Hubert, backing up just a little bit to watch him, and there's a hard edge in his blue eyes that tells her more than he would ever say.
"No," he says firmly, "No, I won't."
"For once in your thrice damned life, you will do as you're told. Is this how you repay me for all of my hard work, you thankless whelp—" Garrett snaps in reply, hands clenching at his sides.
"Your hard work?" Hubert bellows suddenly, color rising in his cheeks and okay, there may be a tiny bit of resemblance in that temper, "Your hard work? I did this!" he snaps and gestures to his uniform, "Me! You did not get this for me!"
"How dare you?! I got you into the academy, I put you into a position to succeed, I adopted your ungrateful hide when Lord Lhant came begging—"
"...he did not beg," Hubert says, low and quiet, and oh, he's done it now, Pascal thinks, because Hubert yells and shouts a lot without thinking about it but it's when he's quiet that you need to worry. His yelling's instinct and she doesn't think too hard about it when he does, but the quiet… That quiet sends a shock of anxiety through her stomach and Pascal steps forward and ignores the tension, taking Hubert firmly by the hand and squeezing.
Easy there, she tries to tell him through her fingers, steady there.
"You will be quiet—"
"No! I absolutely will not," Hubert interrupts and barrels forward like Pascal doesn't think he has, ever, "I have spent my life being quiet and I won't anymore! I won't be marrying any of the girls you choose. I won't even meet them. You don't get to do this for me."
"Tell me, then, do you love this girl?" the other man spits and Pascal can't look Hubert in the face, can't see what he looks like when he's being backed into a corner like this and she can't protect him. She doesn't want to hear the excuses or worse, hear a lie, or even worse, hear a no. There's barely a heartbeat's length of a pause before Hubert speaks.
"I do."
Pascal and Garrett both freeze for very different reasons, and the next thing she knows, he's laughing, a harsh and derisive rumble.
"You poor, stupid fool," he says and backs up a pace, watching Hubert like he's never seen him before. "Get out. Get out of my house and do not come back, do you understand? Do not ever come back here."
Hubert's hand tightens around Pascal's and then he's half-dragging her out the door, through the halls and down the stairs and into the sunshine.
The streets look exactly the same, not like Hubert's just had his world turned upside down, not like anyone knows what just happened, not like Pascal's just heard the words that Hubert wasn't ready to say out of his mouth. They walk silently back to the hotel room that they weren't originally going to book and retrieve the key they'd left with the middle-aged woman working the front desk, the middle-aged woman working the front desk who hadn't blinked twice at a young couple reserving a single room. It's already dark by the time they get back, the stars out and sparkling in the inky sky.
Hubert hasn't has a word since they left and Pascal can't even tell how he feels right now because that military wall that she hates so much is still up, and she wants more than anything to smack it out of him. Instead she leaves him standing by the window to flop onto the bed –the really, really cushy bed that she wants to bring home with her. Once again she can only see his back, his shoulders broader than they'd started, and Pascal rolls over to turn away from him.
Hubert had said that he'd loved her.
Her. Her, Pascal, dippy and flighty Pascal.
Her heartbeat races the more she thinks about it and Pascal brings a hand to her cheek, feeling heat under her palm. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Hubert loves Pascal.
And Pascal definitely, definitely loves Hubert.
Crap.
The next thing she knows, the mattress is dipping and Hubert's sliding down next to her, draping an arm over her shoulder and plastering himself to her back. Pascal rolls over to face him. He watches her intently, blue eyes sharp and smart.
"Hi," she says quietly.
"Hi," he replies.
"You're gonna wrinkle your jacket." Pascal doesn't really care about his jacket but she knows that Hubert does.
"I don't care about my jacket."
That's the biggest lie that Pascal's ever heard because Hubert always cares about his jacket even when he doesn't care about his jacket, and Pascal's hands creep forward to work the buttons from their holes one by one. He lets her and even deigns to help a little, wriggling it off of his shoulders and arms. Hubert lets it drop, then, off the edge of the bed, and it leaves him in just pants and his under armor because he pulled off his boots at the threshold.
"Hi," she says again and scoots closer to kiss him. He's familiar now and there's little fumbling or stuttering to get it right and Hubert kisses like he lives, methodical and precise but with an undercurrent of something wild and heady itching just underneath the surface. Pascal drinks it in and gives it back and kisses him until she can feel him smiling against her lips.
She loves this, this easiness that she's gotten with him that's come from several months' worth of paychecks spent on transportation and twice as many groceries, dinners out and hands that fit each other's perfectly and more than one evening of making one another fall apart. Definitely that, she thinks with a grin. Hands slip up underneath the edge of her top, just a little, and rest on her hips like they belong there.
And they do, Pascal thinks with relish and breathes her feelings into him, all of them, every last one. This is hers, she thinks and tugs Hubert closer to press him flush against her, prickliness and all.
"I didn't lie," he whispers into her mouth, a statement that drags her out and makes her remember, "I swear, I didn't lie."
Oh, Pascal knows that.
She's an idiot but she knows that much and the fact that she knows that makes her wonder why she hasn't said anything. She hasn't wanted to push him, not when it's been clear from the beginning that he's got his edges and she's definitely stupid, and it's better to hold back than put too much forward all at once. Or maybe that's just what she's been telling herself so she can look him in the eyes, because she'd rather kiss love into his mouth than say the words herself.
That won't do now and she knows it, and Pascal wonders what the world's come to when she's lost her words to Hubert "I can't make a coherent sentence sometimes" Oswell.
"I…" she stammers and feels her cheeks darken, "I know you didn't lie."
There's honesty required here that she wasn't expecting him to give first and there's something a little intimidating about it. It's not like she has a father to dramatically declare her love in front of, after all; how could she ever live up to that?
"I love you too," she tells him in more of a squeak than her usual tone, feeling her throat tighten up and hold, "I can't—oh, Hubert, I love you, I do. Every anal-retentive piece of you." And she does and instantly feels a wave of relief rush through her and kisses him again, feels him relax against her.
God, she loves this too. Pascal's just full of love. And irritation sometimes, like when he drags her out of her lab against her will and then turns around and overworks himself the next week like a hypocrite but even that's out of love too, because if she didn't care, she wouldn't get annoyed. And Hubert Oswell is annoying and sometimes kind of dumb, even if she adores him.
For a while, she loses herself in him, in the edges and curves and planes that she doesn't have to ask anymore before she touches, in the warmth and maybe just a little bit of smugness on top of this bed that she definitely wants to take home. Maybe they can buy it or somehow smuggle it out of the hotel without anyone seeing?
"You're thinking," he mutters and Pascal pokes him in the ribs.
"So are you."
"What are you thinking about?"
"About how I want to steal this bed," she replies honestly, "What about you?"
Hubert pauses, bites his lip, and drags in a breath. He looks like he's seriously considering not saying anything (and seriously, if he does that they're going to have to have words; bad, mostly four letter words) and then…
Blushes.
"I was thinking about how much I'd like to…" he gulps, "How much I'd like to take things farther. Now. Sometime soon. Whenever you want, if you want, I mean—with you."
Pascal freezes and pulls back, looking at him quite seriously, especially considering that her hands have been raking through his hair for the last ten minutes.
"Are...are you sure? I mean, I'm probably shooting myself in the foot here but it's not a good idea to do something like this when you're upset—" she can't keep the stutter from her voice and the thud of her heartbeat that rings in her ears because oh, oh, she wants this, has wanted it from the moment Hubert let her touch him. But she still has to know, because the idea of taking advantage, if he's going to do something he'll regret, just makes her hurt.
"Pascal..." Hubert trails off with an unreadable look on his face. "I'm not upset. I mean, I am a little, but I'm...I'm happy. I'm free." He leans forward and hugs her tight and Pascal tucks her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and can't help but hold him right back. "It hurts that he doesn't understand but that's not...that's not my fault. And I want this. With you. I don't want it with anyone else but you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to after this, regardless of how it went."
And that's not just fair, because why should Hubert get to surprise her all the time like this? It's really, really not fair.
Pascal says so and sits up, Hubert just a half second behind her.
"Okay, um, yeah, I'm totally all for that," she rambles, not a small bit incoherent, and glances to the bags. "Crap, we need, um—"
Hubert steadfastly looks away and slides off the bed to wander over to their bags, rummaging around in a pocket before pulling out a small foil packet. Pascal stops rambling.
"…oh," she says, "You have one. You are prepared," she can't help but tease, just a little bit.
He flushes again and comes closer.
"Well, I couldn't exactly ask if I wasn't prepared to back it up, and—"
Pascal tugs him forward and brushes her lips to the patch of skin just above his eyebrow.
"I know, sweetie, I'm not judging you over here," she says and hopes for the love of everything that she only sounds a fraction as excited as she feels. Judging from the look on Hubert's face, she fails. Miserably.
Oh, well. What are you gonna do?
For a few moments they just sit there and stare at each other, even though it isn't like this was anywhere the first time they'd been somewhere like this together, but somehow it's different. Probably because they both know that this time, it's not going to stop at a handjob or something of the like.
"Um, if you wanted to wait until we got back to your place, that's fi—" Hubert begins and that's just it, and Pascal wraps an arm around him to strong-arm him down onto the mattress, sliding on top of him like she's queen and he's her throne.
"Nope," she informs him, popping the 'p', "This is completely fine. I can't think of any place I'd rather rock your world than this spectacular bed."
"You're just happy that you won't be the one washing the sheets tomorrow," Hubert's being far too snarky for someone pinned, Pascal thinks, and bites down on his earlobe to shut him up. She pulls a gorgeous groan out of him and preens.
"I don't know why you're complaining," she says, "You don't have to wash the sheets tomorrow either."
This is true, because if they didn't split up housework then Hubert would probably do all of it and complain every last minute about it, and then she would lock him out of her lab and he would bang on the doors and windows and just generally be a pain in the ass. Halfsies were just easier but that doesn't mean that Pascal's going to let the chance for someone else to do the laundry go to waste and she's certainly not going to let this opportunity with Hubert go, not when she's got him right where she wants him.
Quite literally, in fact.
"Ohoho, I'm the king of the castle and you're the dirty rascal," she tells him with a grin, "And what are you going to do about it?"
Hubert lets out an unflattering snort underneath her and his hands come up to slide patterns up and down her hips.
"Oh, I don't know. Languish here in my indignity, perhaps. I suppose I'll just have to let you have your way with me. If I must."
It's Pascal's turn to snort as she leans over and goes about starting a connect-the-dots puzzle on the column of his throat and she treasures every groan and gasp that he gives her freely. Because they've done this often enough that he doesn't worry about it anymore and that's better than anything. Without hesitation, she slides her hands up underneath the blue of his top, pressing the flats of her palms to warm skin that she knows almost as well as her own but not quite, because she's had quite a bit more practice with herself than she has with him. But this isn't a story about playing catch-up, she thinks, but one of the most enjoyable research.
Hubert leans up and kisses her quietly, shifting the both of them so that he can sit up and she can straddle his lap, her legs uncaringly spread over his hips like she has no shame at all. And honestly, she doesn't. Not really.
Pascal has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of and she won't apologize.
Not for herself, not for Hubert.
Not ever.
"And you're sure?" he asks with a trepidation that doesn't surprise her, and Pascal drapes her arms around his neck to rock them back and forth a couple of times.
"Should be asking you that," she says with a smile and a teasing wriggle of her hips, "I've wanted this since the moment I knew I liked you." But that also meant that she was willing to wait for as long as it took. To a point, of course, because there was only so far she was willing to go if he wasn't willing to put forth the effort, but he was, so she was content to wait.
What was the rush, anyway?
The trip was half the fun.
The fact that Hubert was relaxed and easy underneath her, loose-lipped and comfortable, was more than worth the wait. Plus, it wasn't like it hadn't done her some good, anyway. What was it that people said about patience? And by this point, Pascal knew all the places to touch to get an instant reaction and she knew that Hubert was more than capable of being good to her too, which, considering the official status of their mutual virginity...
Well, she was just going to say thank goodness for that and leave it be.
Pascal beams and hauls his top up over his head to touch all the places she wants, smooth shoulders and the strong muscles at his back and the age-lightened scars around his ribs. The desire to touch is mutual, and Hubert reaches out to undo the buttons at her front, to slide rustling fabric off of her shoulders, to leave her in just her bra and skirt, which should be lewd but isn't. Despite that this at least isn't a first, Hubert still flushes at the way she doesn't bother to try and hide herself from him, still goes red at the way she nuzzles the corner of his mouth and runs a hand down the trail of hair running from his navel down to the waistband of his breeches, still hesitates a tiny bit before reaching behind Pascal to unclasp her bra.
He can do it without looking now, she thinks with no small amount of pride.
"Hey," she whispers.
Oh, this is different.
No, no, not technically, but it's different still because she knows it's different, knows what's coming, and her body itches for it. Pascal's never been ashamed of that either, not like Cheria who thinks it's some kind of crime to have a sex drive, but there's something embarrassing about just how badly she wants it and how badly she wants it because it's him, because it's Hubert Oswell and she chose him.
And he chose her right back.
She needs to do something, to scratch that itch, and she deliberately grinds her hips down to brush his cock. He's already half hard.
"I'm so happy that I get to do this with you," Pascal murmurs into his neck and Hubert's grip around her tightens in a hug even as he pulls in a harsh breath at the somehow still unexpected contact. He's content to hold for a good while and she's content to let him.
At least until she loses her fight against the urge to scrub her thumb up against the soft space between fifth and sixth ribs in a way that has him yelping and flailing away from her, and Pascal lets herself flop onto the soft mattress, giggling relentlessly. She really, really wants to keep this bed.
"Cease your incessant tickling," Hubert tells her, flushing again despite the bossy edge in his voice, and Pascal's smile widens.
"Make me," she replies and languishes with her arms over her head. God, he's such a boy, she thinks, watching his Adam's apple bob as he gulps, blue eyes darting from her face to her breasts to the space between her legs currently covered by the fabric of her skirt. It's with a seriousness then that he comes closer, sidling closer to settle between her legs and brace himself up on his elbows in a way she knows well, and Pascal cups his cheeks in both of her hands and squeezes. "You in, babe?"
"You only use pet names when you're messing with me," Hubert says with a scowl and she rolls her eyes.
"Oh, come on, one time—"
"At least six or seven at this point; I've been counting—"
"God, you would," Pascal huffs but lets out a bark of laughter when she pinches his cheeks and he bats her hands away like he's actually offended. Which he's not, because if he didn't want her to he wouldn't let her. She thinks that a part of him actually likes being teased a bit, which makes him being the resident recipient of everyone's teasing make a lot more sense than it would otherwise. Seriously, lieutenant at the age of seventeen? That didn't leave much time for being equals with people, and Pascal thinks that he's spent so much time being someone's subordinate or someone's superior that he forgets what it's like to be someone's equal and the teasing reminds him.
Besides, it's no fun to tease Asbel, no fun to tease someone who doesn't get half the jokes.
It's with practiced fingers that Pascal pops the button on Hubert's pants and cuts off anything else he might say in reply, tugging them off his slim hips and down around his thighs. Hubert finishes the job himself, wriggling out of them entirely and throwing them off the side of the bed to join his jacket. From there he methodically undoes the zip on Pascal's skirt and peels it off of her to reveal smooth thighs and striped –always, always striped when it seems to matter— panties.
Pascal doesn't think about letting her knees fall open further to accommodate him, to let him into the notch she creates for him, that empty space between the love she has for her machines and Fourier.
Hubert runs his hands up her sides, crosses the swell of her breasts, brushes her nipples with his thumbs in a way he knows full well she likes; he knows her curves by now but he'll know them even better by the time the night is through, Pascal thinks with a certain smugness that she's sure Captain Malik will be able to smell a mile away. Her heart speeds rabbit-quick at the thought.
She's thought about it, oh has she thought about it. She thinks about it every time that they've gotten one another off, thinks about it when she touches herself, thinks about what it would be like to have him inside her.
Pascal doesn't realize until she does that she's breathing, quick and deep, through her mouth. Hubert stills for a moment and just watches, watches long enough that she gets a little self-conscious and looks away.
"What?"
"N-nothing," Hubert stammers and one side of his mouth tilts upwards, "I'm just…happy to be here with you." He reddens and oh, hell, that's kind of adorable and stupidly sexy even though it really shouldn't be. Seriously, who should be allowed to be sexy when they're blushing and talking about love and stuff? Pascal thinks that he deserves something good for that one and she drags him down again, kisses him rough and dirty with teeth and tongue, raking a hand through his hair and giving it a gentle yank that's just enough to pull but not enough to hurt. He groans into her mouth and his hips stutter against her thighs.
Thank goodness for boys being super easy, he's completely hard already.
She grins and pulls away just far enough to whisper,
"I'm happy to be here with you too. But I'll be even happier once you put up or shut up."
"You're trying to kill me," Hubert says, his voice dropping down into a lower register, and dips a hand down to curl his fingers into the waistband of her panties. "You are seriously trying to kill me. It's not right."
"Is it working?"
Hubert retaliates with a kiss of his own that leaves Pascal breathless and red in the face and she pulls him closer with her thumbs to the small of his back until the bulge in his shorts presses against her pussy.
"I don't know, is it?" she pants and lets her grin widen into heat and promise, and this is going to be so good, she just knows it. "You remember what I said the first time? When I said that I…" she cuts off and twists her hips and relishes in the slow warmth that's pooling in her belly and making her skin fizz, "When I said I was going to want you to fuck me until I begged?"
Hubert visibly gulps but he's not just nervous, she can tell that much. He's not the sort of unwillingly turned on that he used to be, like he was ashamed of himself for even considering wanting something like this from her. No, he's definitely nervous but his pupils are blown out and the more she talks, the more his breathing staggers.
He never wants to admit this part but he likes it when she talks, like it when she runs her mouth, likes it when she says all the things that pop into her head that he won't say.
For all that he says he wants Pascal to shut up half the time, when they're here like this together, he can't get enough of the things she says.
And there's something about that that just makes her burn.
"Y-yes?"
"I'm ready to beg when you're ready to make me."
Hubert drags in a shaky breath that doesn't hide the way his free hand scrabbles for purchase on the blanket and Pascal wriggles out of her panties to throw them in the general direction of Hubert's pants and jacket, leaving her without a stitch of clothing and utterly shameless about it.
Oh, he likes this part.
He definitely likes this part, and Pascal likes that he likes it, and maybe she also likes that she's the only person in the world who's allowed to make Hubert Oswell fall apart, who can let him give up the control he hoards like she hoards her stash of bananas and scrap metal.
In response to his shudder, Pascal takes Hubert by the hips and adjusts him so that the hard line of his cock slots up between her thighs and her own breath hitches when fabric brushes bare skin. She knows from the warmth in her belly and the way air comes shallow and the arousal in bright blue eyes that she's wet, but it's one thing to know it and quite another to see it plain as day when Hubert forces himself to back away, to see it written all over his military-issue briefs.
There's something dirty, something vulnerable that makes her shiver about the way she's underneath him, exposed and naked as the day she was born and the way he hovers over her. She can't hide anything from him and it makes her squirm, makes her even hotter.
Pascal reaches out and drags a finger steadily down his erection, so anticipatory that she shakes a little.
"Come on, Hu," she whispers, voice hoarse, "Tell me what you're going to do. Tell me what you promised."
Hubert kisses her hard and then sinks his teeth into the patch of skin just behind her ear, sucking on it when she hisses and arches her back into him to get the desired friction.
"I'm going to pin you down," he murmured, breathing hard puffs of air on the warm skin of her neck, "And then I'm going to fuck you until you beg."
And Pascal whimpers, because he only talks like then when he has every intention of backing up his words, and she wants this so bad that she's almost ready to beg for it now. Instead, she holds back and dips her thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and yanks them down to the crook of his knees and Hubert (bless his heart) helps her out by pulling them off the rest of the way. His erection catches on fabric and bobs down, then up again as it's freed.
Oh, it's not like this is the first time that Pascal has seen it, she's had it in her hands before (and her mouth too, once or twice) but it's different now that this time she knows exactly what's going to happen.
"You're really big," she says quietly and reels him in close to her for full body contact, panels and sheets of warm skin that she can touch and taste all she wants pressing up until she's not sure where Pascal ends and Hubert begins, whether they're even separate people anymore or whether they're Hubert-and-Pascal, because she can feel his heart pounding in his chest and he might pull a more dignified face but he wants this just as much as she does.
And he loves her, she remembers, and that word shoots a spark of heat straight up her spine.
"I love you," she tells him, voice pitching almost into the territory of a whine, she wants this that badly, because he loves her enough to tell his father and she's only said it once so far even though she could say it for days and still not catch up, "You know, Hu?"
"Yes," Hubert replies and already looks kind of wrecked with his hair going every which way and flushed with color in his cheeks and a mess of bruises on his throat that she made, "I do."
And it sinks in that Pascal's heart and libido have finally made it to the same place and she could spend forever with this cranky, irritating boy anywhere, anyhow, anytime, because she adores every inch of him exactly the way he is and it's mind-blowing that he can feel anything like that for her. Because Pascal's never depended on or relied upon or expected love, not for her, because all she's ever had going for her was her brain and a lot of people don't even like that.
But Hubert loves her.
Unsteady hands rip open the little foil package and Hubert unrolls the condom onto his penis like he's been practicing, and Pascal might laugh at the mental image of that one if not for the fact that she might actually hurt his feelings by it. She laughs at him all the time anyway and sometimes gets it wrong, but she does try to be careful about what might hurt him, just like he makes an effort to catch himself when he's being too callous, too military with her.
Strong, calloused hands that are used to hard work slip under her knees and hoist upward and Pascal slips her legs around his waist and holds to cross her feet at the ankles. Still looking so wrecked, Hubert leans down and presses his forehead to hers, just rests it there for a few seconds like that's all he needs.
"You ready?" he asks lowly and shifts so that his cockhead brushes her entrance and this is new; this is really, really new.
"Yeah, absolutely," she replies with a grin that masks the teensy bit of apprehension that she feels. She's not deluded; she knows it'll probably hurt at least a little bit. She knows that no matter what she's done to possibly prepare for the sensation, it probably won't be enough. A toy or her fingers aren't enough to recreate the difference in size and he seems so much bigger like this than when he was in her hand. "Go on, let 'er rip."
Hubert makes a face at her (admittedly terrible) pun but begins to press in anyway, millimeter by millimeter…
And Pascal lets out a pained yelp, making Hubert freeze where he is and stare down at her in concern.
"Are you—"
"Just— Ow, holy shit, ow," Pascal pants a little and tries to get used to the sensation, the pressure, the feeling of being stretched past the point she was used to, "Just stop a second, okay? Just—"
Hubert pulls out entirely, face twisting in nerves and worry and she wants to kiss it off of him but she's still gasping from the lack, now, the movement and the missing pressure almost more painful than the presence.
"Oh god, I've hurt you," the words tumble out of him like water on a riverbank and he looks so anxious that Pascal's heart twists up a little.
"No, no, it's fine," she tells him and reaches up to grasp tightly at his upper arms, "It's fine, don't worry about it. It's bound to hurt a little…"
"But I don't want it to hurt you," Hubert says more than a little sullenly, staring suddenly at the wall instead of at Pascal. Whether it's from irritation at himself or something else Pascal doesn't know but she doesn't like it and she tightens her legs around him to get his attention.
"Hey, Hu, it's okay. Just try again…"
Hubert doesn't, though, and instead slides back a few inches to reach in between her thighs and Pascal really does whine this time because it might not be just what she wants but he's good with his fingers anyway, dipping just one into her pussy at first and then two, despicably gentle to the point that Pascal is seriously about to kick him in the head.
"Hubert," she insists and he cuts off her protests with a kiss that tastes like frustration and obstinance (and to hell with you, Hubert Oswell) and leaves her silent.
"I want you to enjoy this," he says firmly, "I haven't done as much…" he trails off a little and pushes his glasses up on his nose and oh god, that's the first time she's noticed that he's actually left them on, "Research, or practical application as you have, but I don't think you're going to like it like this. I'll just hurt you."
"Hubert," Pascal says between gritted teeth and seriously, she will bite him if he uses that tongue of his to shut her up again, "I swear to god, it's perfectly fine. Now would you just—"
"No," Hubert says and thrusts his fingers in again, making Pascal gasp with surprise and a spike of pleasure that burns her to her bones and without thinking about it, she yanks him down to press her face into his shoulder, nipping the ridge of his collarbone on the way. "How do you think it would make me feel if I knew that you got nothing out of this but pain? That's what all the books say," he rambles and Pascal knows the books he's talking about, made him tell her about just what he'd nicked from his father's study as a young teenager, liked the way he'd flushed and stuttered when he'd admitted what he read, "All these stories, all these pictures," he spits, "All about the first time and the marriage bed, and not one of them with anything good to say for the bride."
"Hu…"
Hubert pulls in an unsteady breath as Pascal squirms around him, trying to press herself closer. It's tight but she needs more, more of him, and his fingers aren't enough to give her what she wants, even if it did hurt enough that she'd made him stop… His free hand strokes gently at her side, down to her hip and up to the curve of her breast, brushing it with his knuckles and sliding down again.
It's not exactly what she wants but Pascal can't help it; Hubert's talented and he's learned what she likes and she might be more annoyed if he didn't keep rubbing the pad of his thumb against her clitoris, a move that he knew for a fact was a good one. Curse him.
"Hubert Oswell, I'm going to kill you," Pascal promises when a third finger slides in home with the two inside her, the slick of her own arousal making the addition easier, "This isn't enough, it's not what I want. You said—"
"And I will," Hubert says and gives a twist of his wrist that makes her rake a hand through his hair and tug, that tears a short, keening cry out of her, that pulls her in close and keeps her there. Pascal rocks her hips and scrabbles at the blankets to get closer but he remains tauntingly far away, though she can still feel him everywhere around her. "Bossy." He repeats the gesture and she mutters another threat under her breath before looking up at him, eyes deceptively wide and plaintive.
"Hubert, come on," she says this time, one hand scratching patterns into his shoulders and the other tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "You're not going to hurt me," she trails off and shifts to grip him in her hand, stroking from base to tip in one quick movement, "But I really, really want you to fuck me. Right now."
Hubert shudders when Pascal lets her voice drop into a lower register that might be a purr if she wasn't so very clearly holding back laughter. Because as frustrated as she is right now, she does know that it's only because he's thinking of her, and the word love warms her stomach again and takes off the edge of irritation. A little.
And then Hubert, insecure Hubert who needed to be led through her twists and turns at first, anxious Hubert smiles down at her and whispers into her ear,
"Say please," and gives another twist of his hand.
Hell.
Oh, hell.
"Please," Pascal lets herself beg, shamelessly grinning up at him though the words are pleading, "Please, Hubert. Quit torturing me and put it in. I need more of you, I need it, please, I need you to fuck me and fill me up until I'm here in a thousand pieces," Hubert pulls his fingers out of her and slicks them down his cock, a move that has Pascal gaping in shock and arousal to replace them with the tip of his erection, pressing forward to slide inside her bit by bit. It's easier now and even though there's the feeling of pulling, it's a good one. "Keep going, oh god, Hu, keep going, please," she keeps telling him through gasps of pleasure and tension.
And then he's inside her completely and, and Pascal's trembling with the pressure and Hubert's trembling with the effort to not move, not until she says it's okay.
"Oh my god," she finds herself saying between heaving breaths, "Hu, Hu—" because this is new and awesome, and she's suddenly very happy that Hubert insisted on care because there's no pain, just that funny pressure and the feeling of being filled in a way that she's decidedly unused to. "You're so—so—" she wriggles a little and gets used to the feeling, bigger than her toys, hot and hard and it's Hubert, who's staring down at her with his teeth clenched but soft-eyed, like she's precious and it's everything he can do to not just use her the way his body wants. "Say something, Hu," because she's been the one's who's been talking this whole time, because Hubert's quiet when he's not yelling or snarling and she needs to hear his voice even though she's had his heart and now she has his body too.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life," he murmurs and presses his lips to hers, licking into her mouth and tasting the breathy sighs she gives him at the slightest movement, swallows down the hitching groan and speeding heartbeat that follows his words because she still doesn't ever expect compliments even when they should be obvious, as least to him. "Tell me when it's okay for me to move."
Because he wants to, oh, does he want to, Pascal can see it plain and simple in his eyes, through the flush and the normally immaculate hair falling in his face and the thin sheen of sweat already beginning to shine on his shoulders.
"Yeah," she tells him, "You can move."
The words are barely out of her mouth when Hubert pulls back, slides out of her a few inches and then back in seconds later, wrenching a pleased groan from his throat and a squeak from her, and Pascal clenches up around him and drags him in further.
It's still kind of weird but in a good way, she decides, and the stuttered not-rhythm becomes something slow and almost torturous. A really good way, she amends when one particularly well-aimed stroke brushes an area inside her that has her rolling her hips against his and trying desperately to find it again. Hubert's wrecked above her, inside her, around her, and all Pascal can see and feel is him, and she never thought that she'd be okay with something like that but right now, she wouldn't give it up for the world.
"Do you want to know," she whispers not a small bit hoarsely, "How it feels?"
"You're trying to kill me," Hubert replies, "Stop that. I am doing my god-given best to pretend that I don't have the endurance of a virgin and you're over here trying to kill me."
Pascal grins and twines an arm around his neck.
"But do you want to know?"
Hubert looks horribly conflicted for about two seconds and Pascal makes up by his mind by clenching around him again and dipping a hand down between them to flick feverishly at her clit, slip-sliding in her own moisture and running steady circles around the inches of cock sliding in and out of her to lock her eyes on Hubert's. Spikes of heat and pleasure shoot through her in time to the rhythm she lets him set. Oh, she has every intention of decimating him, because she wants him to decimate her in every way that matters.
"Yes," he grits out between clenched teeth, unable to resist the door she opens just like she knows he can't, "Yes, yes, yes. Fuck it all and talk to me, Pascal."
"I was right when I said you'd be bigger than my fingers," she pants a shallow breath into his lips just a hairs breadth from a kiss, because he can't ever resist her when it comes to her particular brand of vocabulary, "I feel really—" she squeaks when the very edges of his fingernails scrape taunting patterns into her shoulders like he's carving himself into her just the way she wants him to, "Really full, like you're pouring yourself into me until I'm about to overflow. Hubert, I never want to do this with anyone but you, oh god, come on, please," she suddenly cracks a little when he slows down his thrusts to listen to her speak and it really is a torture that she simultaneously loves and can't stand, "Please, god, I need you to go faster, come on, you're gonna kill me here."
"I'm not going to kill you," Hubert says tightly and bites his lip, then bites hers, "I'm trying to make this last. What are you always going on about with experiments, and needing to set up controls, and practicing over—" he snaps his hips forward and bites off a groan when she gasps and half-desperately rolls her own to meet his, "And over—" Again, and Pascal glares at him even while she's all at once falling apart and possibly dying in a pretty-okay hotel room, "And over again until you get it right." He speeds up and deepens his thrusts until it nearly hurts but not enough to stop, not anywhere near enough to stop, and Pascal loves him to the point that if he doesn't give himself over soon, she's going to kill him.
"Fuck my experiments," she growls, "You're holding back and I don't want you to, I just want to see how you look when you come when you're inside me, you want to, right? It turns you on so bad that you're gonna come harder than you ever have and I want it, I want you to, come on—"
Hubert makes a keening noise deep in his throat that makes Pascal shudder and try desperately to keep from bringing herself to the precipice, because she doesn't want to come first, not this time, and fails entirely. She presses her fingertip hard against her clit just as Hubert gets it perfectly and Pascal comes with something like a sob but not quite. Hubert yanks her close when he realizes what's happening –smart boy, quick-learning and gorgeous and perfectly-imperfect boy— and he doesn't hold back, fucking her through her orgasm and making her cry out in a way that would be worrisome if not for the way she doesn't let him pull away, and the noise she makes is enough that his rhythm goes slipshod and erratic.
"Hubert!" she gasps into the warm skin of his shoulder, "Oh god, Hubert, please don't stop, please, please!"
And that's enough to throw him off the cliff and Hubert sinks into her as he comes silently. Pascal's boneless and loose-limbed underneath him when he finally feels his heartbeat slow, and instead of giving into the urge to sag right there where he is, Hubert pulls out slowly (and gently, because Pascal gives a hiss of almost-pain when he does and they're going to have to discuss that, because in his haste she let him hurt her at least a little and that's entirely unacceptable) and shifts off of her to collapse into a hot, sweaty heap next to her. He fumbles a little with removing the condom, tying it off and chucking it into the wastebasket. Come tomorrow, the entire thing will be covered in tissue because Hubert will undoubtedly be horrified at the thought that someone might see it (and Pascal won't care) and the entire room will still probably smell like sex.
The moment he's done, Pascal rolls over closer until they're face-to-face and the heat might have been stifling if she hadn't been so utterly content. Instead of pulling away from her equally sweaty self, Hubert curls into her and wedges an arm underneath her to pillow her head on it.
For a good while, they're quiet. Until,
"Five minutes," Hubert mutters, "I lasted five minutes."
Pascal doesn't even need to look at him to be able to reach up and smack him upside the head.
"Quit your bitchin'," she tells him plainly and she's not afraid to let the edges of her lips tilt up when he scowls, "Did you like it?"
"Of course," he replies without thinking.
"And clearly, I liked it," she continues, "Duh. And as a scientist, I couldn't possibly run an experiment with a single trial, you know that. We'll just have to do it again, you know. And again. And again. Just to make sure." And there she's done it because Hubert hides a smile behind his hand and she pulls him close. She hurts a little, which isn't particularly surprising. Not in a bad way necessarily but more in the way that she expected, a little raw and a little sore.
No, it's definitely not in a bad way, she thinks, and slings her leg over Hubert's hip. It's a companionable gesture and not a sexy one because she's too tired to even pretend to be sexy right now, and she'll stay here to soak in the way that Hubert's hair is sticking up every which way (her work, definitely) and the way he's blinking slowly as if halfway asleep already. She sniggers and he opens his eyes halfway to glare at her.
The effect is diminished by the fact that they're naked and the blanket is too far away for either of them to bother with getting up for.
"Seriously," she says finally, "Can we keep this bed?"
"No," Hubert answers and turns his head into the pillow so that his voice comes out all muffled.
"But I like it."
"That is just super."
Pascal pouts a little and scoots away, because now it's hot and she's sweaty and it will be cuddling time when it's not quite so gross.
"But Hubert—"
"Somehow, I think that management would protest to our stealing one of their beds."
Well, that's no fun. Pascal sticks her finger in her mouth, slicks it up, and moves it threateningly towards Hubert's exposed ear.
"If you put that finger in my ear, I swear to god, I'm going to kill you."
Pascal grins and leans over him to whisper,
"I think I know a way that they'll let us keep it," and Hubert sputters and goes red, which is absurd because he legitimately just got through boning her, and that is ridiculous. "Oh, come on. You can't possibly be embarrassed," she teases, and is rewarded by Hubert stuffing his entire head under the pillow. She giggles. "Hubert, seriously?"
"Shut up!"
Well, fine. Pascal scoots off the edge of the bed and meanders into the bathroom, where she proceeds to grab a towel off the rack. She grabs the blanket on the way back and decides that clearly, the best place to start a rubdown would be Hubert's head, and he protests and fends her off to the point that in the end they're right back where they started: in a tangle of limbs and she's laughing and he's snapping at her to knock it off even though he's supporting her hips and trying desperately to resist the urge to smile.
He never used to smile so much back when they were all travelling together and Pascal would like him to smile more because she likes it when he does, but she knows what he looks like when he wants to. His whole face softens and warms even though his lips stay stubbornly still, except when they're alone and she can kiss her own onto him.
It's a good look for him, she thinks, and makes it her goal to make it stay because if Hubert of all people can pull a smile and mean it, then anything can happen.
"What are you thinking about?"
Pascal doesn't realize that she's spaced out a bit until Hubert tightens his grip a titch and speaks, and she shakes her head.
"Nothing," she replies. Hubert stares at her suspiciously and Pascal distracts him by leaning down and kissing the breath out of him. He scowls.
"That's not fair, you know," he complains, looking legitimately disappointed. "Doing that to me when you know I won't be able to go again for a bit." Pascal smirks and rolls her hips. The twinge of pain is still there but minor and ignorable. Definitely ignorable.
"Maybe you can't," she corrects and grins wider as Hubert's glare deepens, "But that doesn't say anything about me."
"You are awful."
"Come on, Hu," Pascal bats her eyelashes and rubs the tip of her nose against Hubert's, "Please?" There's just a hint of a whine in her voice that, unlike the ache in her groin, isn't ignorable, because it's kind of annoying and she knows it, and she's also naked which makes it even less ignorable. She's proven right when Hubert rolls his eyes and sits up to scoot them both backwards, until only the plush pillows are the only thing keeping Hubert from an intense backache the next morning. Pascal thinks nothing of letting her knees fall apart around him as she leans forward to wrap an arm around his neck and cuddle close.
It's a hug but a really sexy, naked hug.
Awesome.
Hubert drops a hand from the dip of her waist and slips it between them, and Pascal grazes her teeth against the column of his neck in appreciation when he strokes the edge of her pussy with his fingertips, gathering the moisture there and running a steady, comfortable line from back to front.
"Hubert," she bites out and rakes a hand through the hair at his nape. She likes most anything he does to her and she's not that picky (an orgasm is an orgasm in her book) but she thinks that if she ever had to pick just one thing, she'd probably pick this. Hubert's good with his hands and a quick learner, and all Pascal has to do is remember the look of intensity on his face the first time he watched her get herself off to send her heart racing and her face flushing.
She's not used to that sort of attention and she knew that he watched every flick, every stroke, every thrust to remember what she'd like later, because Hubert doesn't half-ass anything. He uses that knowledge now to take her apart on a fairly regular basis, and Pascal wonders what he likes better: decimating her or coming undone under her own clever hands.
Pascal sometimes wonders what she likes better, realizes that she can't decide, and takes it all because she can.
She supposes that it doesn't matter much because she's not ashamed of being selfish and of wanting everything that Hubert's willing to give her.
Hubert draws her in until they're pressed chest to chest and slips a finger inside her only to draw it out excruciatingly slowly, pulling a groan from Pascal with it. It feels good but it's not enough after earlier, nowhere near enough, and she loves this but she wants all of him again, because she's a selfish girl and she's not ashamed.
"I wish—" she says slowly and grinds down on his hand, just this side of begging for him to give her more and put her out of her misery, "I really, really wish that you were up for round two." Hubert responds by very deliberately giving her another finger and crooking them to make her voice pitch upwards, and she feels his dick give an interested twitch against her thigh. Not ready yet but eventually, Pascal will make damn sure of it.
Round two or death, she decides.
"You have no idea," he answers and retracts his fingers to trace patterns over her clit. He's writing letters, Pascal fucking knows it because she was the one who suggested it in the first place, but she's too distracted right now to even think about what they could be.
"I want to ride you next time," she tells him breathily, bright-eyed and hazy, "Can I do that? Like this?" Her bangs stick to her forehead. So do Hubert's, she notes, and pushes them up off of his forehead like she can beam her dirty thoughts into his head. "How's about it, sweetie?"
Hubert proceeds to look about as mortified as anyone possibly can while giving a handjob.
"Come on, really?" Pascal asks, and squeaks when he catches her in a kiss that's everything he doesn't say, hot and absolutely filthy that has her leaning back in for more when he pulls away, "You've got all sorts of dirty laundry stored up in your head, you should air it out once in a while."
"You air yours out a little too often," Hubert lectures like he doesn't get off on it. Pascal grins and rolls her hips; they'll probably have to strip the bed of the sheets before they can ever get to sleep (that's a big if at this point, anyway), and she doesn't give a whit to nipping his ear and whispering into it,
"And you love it."
And that's enough to have Hubert give out a frustrated groan that he takes out on her with his fingers, and Pascal pants hot air into his ear.
"Come on, Hu," she says and her hips jerk. It's a good thing that he's got his other arm firmly curled around her back otherwise there's a good chance that she might actually flail her way off the bed. It wouldn't be the first time. "Talk to me, please," She's normally the blabbermouth in bed (almost always, in fact) but every once in a blue moon, Hubert gives in and lets himself go. It doesn't happen often because she's usually the one running her mouth and when she's talking Hubert's usually focusing on other things but right now, she wants almost nothing more than to hear every dirty detail fall from his lips.
It tastes a little like corruption, dark and sweet and smooth, or it's chocolate, but it's usually corruption and it's gorgeous.
"Do you want it like this or do you want me to pin you down?" Hubert asks lowly, rolling the words around like he can taste them too, "You'd like it either way, right?"
"Love you," Pascal pants, "Love you, love you," She whines and puts her weight down on him when he rolls her clit between his fingers and scrapes his nails over her shoulder, still damp with a sheen of sweat from earlier. Unconsciously, she reaches down and takes him in hand; Hubert ceases his ministrations long enough to grip by the wrist and pull it to his lips to brush a quick kiss across her knuckles.
"Uh-uh," he chides, "This is all you."
"But—but Hu—"
"No," Hubert insists, "Not yet. Besides..." and his lips tilt up in a smile but he doesn't finish what he was going to say, and Pascal drops her nose into his shoulder and whimpers into it because he doesn't need to. The heat in her cheeks lets her know she's blushing, and to hell with Hubert for being the only person who can do that to her.
She almost doesn't know quite what to do when he does this and he knows it, the jerk. Knows that she doesn't know how to just let someone have their way without participating or being expected to contribute, even when letting Hubert have his way involves nothing more than letting him rock her world. Somehow, she's more naked in front of him like this than she is without a single stitch on, and that more than her lack of clothing is what makes her want to curl into him and hide.
She's not used to feeling exposed or vulnerable and she doesn't think she likes it, but she'd rather be vulnerable than miss out on Hubert, even though his focused attention makes her heart race and it makes her want to distract him from her.
He doesn't let her though, because she doesn't want to talk about how he's the only person who's ever made her really think about herself. Not when he's got her so revved up that she's one joyride away from Candyland, anyway. Besides, he knows already.
"You're beautiful, you know," Hubert says, his words a pass code she can't unlock herself, and Pascal shudders and clenches up around his fingers, "Watching you is just as good. It makes me want to take you apart until you can't do it anymore, put you back together, and do it again." Pascal squirms and presses against him like that'll help her get under his skin, her thighs trembling like she's not sure whether she wants to clench them together or leave them open for him.
"H-Hu…"The heat sparking over her skin, through her nerves, settling in her belly and groin is nearly unbearable. "Come on, Hu, I'm dyin' over here. Please, I need it, come on!" She pleads. Hubert brushes a long, steady stroke down her back with his free hand, shoulder to ass, and settles on a motion he knows she likes, one that has her gripping him tight around the shoulders like a koala.
"It's okay, it's okay, I've got you, I'll get you there. You trust me, right?"
Pascal blinks dazedly and furrows her eyebrows.
"Well, yeah, duh, of course I trust you. Why—" Pascal cuts off when Hubert dips his head in and sucks on the patch skin along her jaw.
And presses hard with a fingertip right on the spot that never fails to send her over the edge, and she doesn't even try to hold back the cry that rips itself from her throat. Her back arches and Pascal clenches her eyes shut tight when she comes on his fingers. Normally, he gets her off and lets her come down from it; this time he touches her until she sobs and ricochets her straight into another one, less dramatic but more intense, and she shakes against him for what seems like forever until she goes loose and slack in his arms.
Hubert holds her through it and Pascal tucks her nose into the crook of his neck.
She can't make herself move, not at all, and all she wants to do is stay here until she gets her breath back, possibly for forever. For once in her life she's thinking about absolutely nothing. Her brain's a blank slate and she can't even rustle up anything to say to him. Pascal blinks slowly and lets herself be manhandled when Hubert runs a towel over her to clean her up. The sheets are a mess and he wrenches off the thoroughly wrecked top one to leave only the one fitted to the mattress, curls up against her, and tugs the blanket up over their shoulders.
"Hu?" She finally manages, still a little slow and hazy, "You want me to…?" She runs a hand along his hip and Hubert catches it and laces his fingers in hers. To be honest, she's not sure if she's up for anything more than going to sleep and she feels kind of bad for it, because no one deserves to be left with blue balls because their partner needs a nap.
"It's alright," he tells her and runs his fingers through her sweat-damp hair, "Get some rest. "
"But—"
She can feel when Hubert rolls his eyes and shuffles closer to drop a kiss to her forehead. Pascal tangles her ankles with his and decides that just this once, she'll let him be the big spoon.
"No one said anything about this being the last of it. Go to sleep."
Pascal's about to protest again when his next sentence stops her dead.
"Besides, haven't you ever heard of morning sex?"
She wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight until his breath catches.
"You are the best." And then she doesn't know anything else as her eyes drop shut and she falls asleep.
"Seriously, this is so unnecessary."
"Oh, hush up and quit being a wet blanket."
Pascal plasters herself to the wall and peers around the corner, startling a maid in the process. Hubert follows at a more sedate pace, red in the cheeks and resisting the urge to rub his temples. Somehow, Pascal's got it into her head that the best way to check out is by pretending to be involved in something covert and shady and Hubert didn't notice until he finished filling the wastebasket to the brim with tissue.
He sighs.
"Please behave like a normal human being?"
Pascal turns around and grins.
"Never!" she declares with pomp and doubles back to grab Hubert by the hand and pull him along with her. "What happened? You were so cute last night—" She's cut off when Hubert slaps a hand over her mouth and glances around to see if anyone heard.
"Don't talk about that!" he hisses. Seconds later, he screws up his face because Pascal's just licked his palm. "Ew."
"That's what you get," she says when he removes his hand and wipes it on her top. "Buzzkill." Hubert glares at her and she ignores it to continue right along with what she was doing. Worse, actually, because now she's humming and Hubert is desperately trying to pretend that he doesn't know her.
It's up to him to check out and hand their keys in, and he refuses to look Pascal in the eyes when he does. If he looks at her, she'll give him the face, and everyone will know. It's mid-morning and the world goes on as usual. The streets are bustling and they can smell food being sold from carts, and Hubert suddenly craves the kind of greasy breakfast that he rarely allows himself.
Pascal catches him eyeing a stall that serves bacon, beams, and cocks her head in that direction.
"Breakfast sounds good, yeah?"
Hubert debates on the idea of declining in favor of something more like an omelet, and then thinks better of it.
"Yeah," he replies, "Sounds good."
Pascal's grin widens and she takes his hand again right there in public, and Hubert squirms a little until he realizes that there isn't a single soul looking at him.
He squeezes back and they start walking.
Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review if you have anything at all to say, and you're reading this before the first part…GO FORTH AND READ MORE PORN. Again, thank you!