There's Always a Next Time (Sometimes)
Studio 60, Harriet/Jordan, dressing room.
455 words. For sinandmisery's battle.
Characters are not mine.
"H- Harry, what are you doing?"
You're surprised she hasn't tried to stop you earlier, but you smile at her anyway.
"It's a dressing room, Jordan," you sigh. "What do you think I'm doing?"
She stares at you as you pull your top over your head and toss it somewhere behind you.
"You're… definitely not dressing," she says hoarsely as your bra follows your top shortly after.
You try not to smirk as you move towards her, hands coming to settle on her hips. You press a soft kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "And do you have a problem with that, Miss McDeere?"
"Only if you call me 'Miss McDeere' again," she snarks, though you're pleased to hear a hitch in her voice as your hand sneaks under her shirt to skim across a soft belly.
You pull back slightly anyway in an attempt to meet her eyes.
"Are you going to be talking through all of this?"
Now it's her turn to smirk.
"That depends," she says, working at the button on your jeans. It doesn't take long before she's got a hand down your pants and you're leaning into her palm. "Would it help if I talked?"
Suddenly she removes her hand, but before you even have time to protest she's pressing her thigh between yours and she's kissing you fully on the lips. You roll your hips against her, your jeans against her creating just the right pressure, and you're surprised at the guttural moan that escapes from you – but thankfully it's swallowed by her lips, pressed firmly against yours.
A little more rolling, a little more shifting, and then you feel Jordan's hands between your legs again, and then you can't think straight anymore because Jordan's inside you, and you can feel her moving. She's pushing and sliding and suddenly you're aware of her lips, wrapped around your nipple. It's too much and not enough all at the same time, and you don't know how much longer you can last.
"Jordan," you breathe, and she smiles at you.
And then she curls her fingers and bites down on your nipple, and there's a loud moan and suddenly you're coming, you're coming and you're still standing, but your legs are weak and soon you slide to the floor, with her supporting you.
There's a moment of silence, in which you try to catch your breath and she looks at you almost reverently, that seems to stretch forever, and she's the one who finally breaks it.
"Would you prefer I talk more next time?"
You lean forward and kiss the corner of her mouth in a surprisingly affectionate gesture.
"Only if you don't want there to be next time."