Author's Note: For my pal Summer Violet. So that she doesn't go all evil on us.
Charlotte is in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when Cooper walks in and shuts the door quietly behind him. There's something about the way he does it, something sneaky and mischievous. She glances at him in the mirror, wonders what he's up to.
"Mason… is sound asleep," he tells her, taking a step closer as she leans forward and spits into the sink.
Charlotte frowns, her brow knitting together slightly. "Has been for the past twenty minutes," she points out. "Hence the whole bedtime routine…"
"Mmhmm," he murmurs, a little suggestively this time, and as he steps behind her she lets one brow lift slowly. Oh he's definitely up to something…
Their eyes meet in the mirror as his hands settle on her hips, skimming forward along the waist of her pajama bottoms. "You…" he tells her, fingers dipping beneath the elastic, "Were amazing tonight."
"I was just… playin the part," she excuses, her voice already gone a little breathy with anticipation. He's creepin' down, slidin' his fingers over the cotton of her underwear, rubbing a slow, firm circle over her clit. Charlotte's jaw drops a little. "I know how – mm – how important this is to you."
"That was more than playing a part," he says. "That was committing to this whole thing, and I know how much you hated the whole idea at first, so…" His fingers slip beneath the cotton, dipping in to find her growing increasingly wet. Jesus, his kid is asleep in the living room, and he's swirling his finger around, drawing a little bit of that wetness forward and circling her clit again. He's barely touchin' her, but it feels sneaky and illicit and her breath is already quickening. "I just want you to know how grateful I am."
She grins. "Oh yeah?"
"Oh, yeah," he mutters, his mouth against her neck, tongue finding her skin and sending goosebumps over her. "But I don't know how light of a sleeper he is, so…"
He draws his hand out of her pants, much to her displeasure, lifting them to her lips instead. Charlotte knows what he wants – they're dispensing with the formalities here, apparently. She sucks his fingers in, swirls her tongue over them, gets them good and wet, and then there they go back down her pants, down, down, slipping into her. He angles his wrist just so, and her mouth falls open as a wave of pleasure swamps her system. He chooses just that moment to finish his sentence, whispering, "You have to be quiet."
Charlotte lets her head drop back against his shoulder, and nods, then lowers her eyes to watch where his hand is moving steadily inside her pants. Inside her. He's found just the right spot, and her knees are already going a little weak. "God, how do you always find that spot?" she asks, her voice low and throaty. His palm is rocking steadily against her clit, and God this is good. She'll make as many damned shadow puppets as he wants if this is the thanks she gets.
"Practice," he smirks, his hand suddenly moving faster, harder. A moan pops out – she can't help it. "Shhh," he scolds. Charlotte works her jaw, grits her teeth, swallows against the sound that wants to bubble up out of her. This isn't going to take long.
His other hand slips underneath her shirt, skims up her belly until he's cupping her breast. He circles his fingertips over her nipple, then squeezes it gently, then a little harder, a little harder still, and Charlotte scrambles to twist the tap on to cover up the heavy exhale she can't hold in. "God, Cooper…"
He's grinning over her shoulder, and when she manages to draw her gaze away from the delightfully awful things he's doing to her, she catches him watching her face. "You're amazing," he murmurs again, "I love you so much right now, you have no idea…"
"Love you too," she exhales, hands behind her now, fisting at the fabric over his thighs. His mouth is back on her neck, sucking hard, wet kisses against her skin, and then his hand slows, and stops, and she'll freely cop to the pout that settles over her face. "Hey – why're you stoppin'?"
"Turn around," he urges, letting his fingers slide out of her. She shifts so her back is to the mirror, her front to him, leaning her weight back against the counter just a little bit and pressing her hips forward into his waiting hand. And then his fingers are back inside her, quicker, harder, just the way she likes it. Every time he moves, he pulls at that spot and her toes are curling into the rug, her breathing heavy, her eyes steady on his.
He leans in to kiss her, his rhythm stuttering for a second, then evening out. She uses his mouth on hers to muffle her moans as he presses his hand harder against her, presses their bodies closer. Her fingers are gripping hard at the countertop, her mouth sloppy and half-assed against his. She's too distracted by what his hand is doing to worry about her mouth.
And what his hand is doing is winding her up, making everything coil tight, spooling pleasure up around her and through her and then he murmurs against her mouth that she's so fucking beautiful, and God, she hates to admit it, but the compliments just make her hotter.
"Shhhh," he hisses against her ear when she moans again, louder. "Gotta be quiet, beautiful. Gotta be quiet and come for me, come on…"
He changes the rhythm slightly, and her hips jerk against his hand. God, that's good. So good, so good, so close… She gasps his name, tips her head back, slaps her palm down onto the countertop once because she needs to moan her head off and she can't, she can't because Mason will hear them and wake up, and God, God, God…
He's urging her to be quiet again when she comes, gritting her teeth hard, squeezing her eyes shut. It's not enough to keep a grunt of satisfaction from eking it's way out the back of her throat, but with the way her body's gone all live-wire and pleasure-soaked, she thinks she should still get credit for restraint.
He doesn't stop, keeping her up, forcing her to ride the wave of it until it becomes harsh and unbearable, and she reaches between them, squeezes his forearm hard, and lets out an explosion of held breath when he stops.
"Unh," is about the only thing she can manage to say, and he snickers at her, stealing another kiss, and then pushing at her pants and dropping to his knees as the fabric slumps to the floor. He leans in and kisses a line from her navel, headed southward, and Charlotte's brows lift.
"What're you doin'?" she asks him, although she's pretty sure she knows. Not like he's bein' subtle about his intentions.
He grins up at her and says, "I'm very, very grateful."
She chuckles lowly, glances at the door, and asks, "Did you shut the bedroom doors?"
"Mmhmm," he murmurs, just before his tongue slips out and brushes against her. She jumps a little, then lifts her leg, sliding it up over his shoulder and shifting her weight until she's somewhere near comfortable, and he has plenty of access.
"Good," she sighs, letting her head tip back, blindly studying the ceiling as his tongue swirls against her again. At least there's two doors between them and the sleepin' kid. They have a little bit of leeway with noise. Which is good, because what he's doin' to her is very, very, very nice. The post-orgasmic pleasure is acute, almost uncomfortably so, but it's not a feeling she's unused to, and he's gentle, giving her soft, soothing licks until it evens out into something less sharp.
Her fingers tremble a little, and she presses them against the counter to keep them steady, the delicious sensations starting to throb through her again. God, she loves when he does this to her. He's good with his tongue – obscenely, sinfully good, and when he starts going at her in earnest again, she forgets she's supposed to be quiet and lets out a heavy groan of, "Yeah…"
"Shh!" he reminds, and then he's fluttering his tongue against her, laser-focused on her clit, quick little taps that make her knees shake. God, why is she still standing for this?
He's cupping her ass with one hand, holding her against him, but the other shifts, and slips into her again, fingers zeroing in on their target. When he finds it, she's climbing the damned walls, her abs trembling, toes clenching in the soft material beneath them, one hand scrabbling for his hair and fisting there.
By some miracle she manages to keep quiet, but only barely.
In her head, though, it's an entirely different story. A cacophonous litany of Oh Gods and Fuck, Coopers, and just like that and more and God, don't stop… She babbles when he does this – when he gets her just right with tongue and fingers at the same time. He's always a smug bastard about it, but she can never help herself. She babbles her stupid head off about how good it feels, and how if he stops she'll kill him, and how – oh, God, she can't handle having to be quiet, she just can't. She's usually so much better at this, at being quiet when they do it in public, but this is her bathroom; it's like her brain just can't equate that she has to keep it down now.
She gropes for the hand towel nearby, presses it against her mouth and sobs out her pleasure, biting into the terrycloth as he doubles his pace. Jesus, she can't take much more of this.
And then he does that thing, and it's about five seconds before she's catapulted into orgasm number two, her body sagging a little against the counter. His hand slips out of her – rather gracelessly, and a little painfully, but she's not really caring right now – and cups the other side of her ass to help hold her up as he draws this one out, too.
He gives her a final broad lick, then leans back, and Charlotte goes limp and simply slides down into his lap. The hand towel falls from her fingers, and before he can make a comment that's as self-satisfied as the look on his face, she covers his mouth with hers and gives him a wet, nasty kiss. All tongue and teeth, meant to let him know this ain't over, she's not done with him.
She needs water, and a minute to breathe, but she's not stoppin' for 'em. Not yet, anyway. She shoves at his shoulder, coughing a little against the dryness in her throat. She wants to be all quippy and make some comment about how it's his turn to be quiet, but she's all hyped up on endorphins and orgasms, and all she finds herself doing is yanking at his pajama pants.
Cooper shifts, and wriggles, and by the time he's out of his pants, he's flat on his back, her thighs straddled over his hips. Charlotte reaches down, grabs his erection, adjusts it slightly and swoops down with a sharp inhale. Now that is what she needs, she thinks, as he fills her up.
His eyes drop shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his fingers sink into the skin of her hips. She's got the upper hand again, she knows, the knowledge making her grin.
He's not the only one who can play this game.
"Be quiet," she breathes, teasingly, and then she starts to move. Quick, deep strokes, arching her back just a little until it's just right. She lifts her hands into her hair, fists them there, lifts it off the back of her neck and just rides.
Now, Cooper's the one fighting back moans.
Not that she's immune to the pleasure, far from it, but the power makes it easier, somehow, to keep her voice down. "You like that?" she teases, and he nods, grinning.
"Unh – love it," he grunts.
"You want more?"
"Mmhmm," he moans, and she shushes him. He gives her a look, his hands pushing at the material of her top, shoving it up, up, until her breasts are bare. Then he fists it and pulls her forward, pushing his hips up hard into her as the angle shifts.
Charlotte lets out an unexpected "ah!" and Cooper looks way too pleased about it.
"Be quiet," he pants, mockingly, and they both let out a little giggle. He tugs her closer until he can cup her breasts, and lift his head to catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking eagerly. Charlotte alters her movements to accommodate, biting her lip, and letting out a shaky breath as the pleasure curls it's way down from her breast, through her belly, until it meets where their bodies are slip-sliding together, making every bit of friction that much sweeter. Damn him.
He drops his head back to the rug with a dull thud, palming her breasts instead, then finding her nipples with his fingertips and squeezing, rolling, pinching just the way she likes.
God…
Charlotte shifts the angle just enough so that her clit grinds hard against him on every stroke, then she moves in quick, sharp thrusts. Cooper times his hands with each one, and soon she's having a hard time keeping quiet again.
He's arching up into her, meeting her thrusts, and she's humping against him, pressing down hard, her palms fisting the rug near his head, one knee on the tile, stinging with the beginnings of a tile burn.
She doesn't care, doesn't care, doesn't care because she's close again, for the third time tonight, her skin sweaty under her top, beneath his hands, between her thighs and his hips.
Mason coughs in the next room, and Cooper stills. Charlotte just grins and fucks him harder, wrenching his attention back to her, back to them, back to the inappropriate sex he started.
And then he must decide he needs to finish this before they really do wake the kid up, because he wraps an arm around her waist, then bucks up against her hard enough to throw her balance. He rolls into her, on top of her, then hooks his elbows under her knees, and rails her hard and fast.
She slaps her hands over her mouth to muffle the noise she makes at the sharp stab of pleasure in her belly, her eyes rolling helplessly as he pounds her again and again. Her head knocks against the tile, but she ignores it, and she's still moaning behind one hand when she sends the other down to rub at her clit – just a little, just enough, and then she's a goner again.
Her thighs tense, her hips arch against him, everything inside her going tight with ecstasy. Her toes curl, her fingers press hard and go still, the harsh rocking of their hips enough to provide the friction she needs.
And then he's groaning tightly, giving a last few erratic thrusts and half-collapsing on top of her.
Her lungs are burning for air, her hair's trapped between her shoulders and the tile, and a red mark is starting to show on her knee. She's bent in half like a pretzel, Cooper still buried inside her, his full weight held off of her by only the grace of his elbows.
She can't help it; she gets the giggles.
"What?" he breathes, chuckling along with her.
"That wasn't very quiet," she manages, quelling her laughter as best she can.
"Let's hope he sleeps like me," Cooper tells her, and they're both grinning as their mouths meet lazily.
Let's hope, she thinks, swirling her tongue languidly against his.
If this whole part-time parenting business inspires this kind of late-night furtive debauchery, she's thinkin' it might not be so bad…