Digital Dirty Talk
He's on his fifth hour of South Park, good and properly baked, when his phone vibrates across the coffee table and comes to a noisy stop next to his, now vibrating, beer bottle.
With a sigh, he grabs the phone to stop the noise. He has no intention of doing anything or anyone today.
The ocean is glass, and he's so fucking tired of the mindfuck involved in getting in girls' pants lately.
With a flick of his wrist, he reads the id on the message.
Mac
"What?" He pushes himself up into a sitting position to read the message.
What kind of trouble must they have gotten into to be sending him the bat signal?
Veronica hadn't dragged her tech into the lion's den, had she? He had seen the look in her eyes when she had left Eduardo's house and that desperate need for justice had driven her, god for years last time, lives ruined, she took more than her pound of flesh and he was sure this would be no different.
His stomach tightened at the image of that red line of blood across the blonde's neck, and it only got worse when he replaced the blonde with the still mostly brunette nerd.
He braces himself for whatever clusterfuck he's going to be pulled into and opens her text message.
Sitting at my desk fantasizing about how hot it would be to do it in the office
He rereads it a couple times. That can't be Mac, he must have put her name on some other girl's contact information by mistake.
Oh yeah? What would you do if I was there?
He replies, pushing himself up out of the couch and making his way to Logan's room where he has Veronica and the rest of her Scooby Gang's contact information, in case he gets into trouble; the guy had no faith in him.
Oh yeah it's her alright.
He waits on what he is sure must be classified as baited breath for a response.
I want you under my desk, I can feel your hot hands on my legs already...
God, who did she think he was, because he can't believe the jealousy that just flashed across his body
His fingers flash across the keypad, conscious to keep it going slow and not to jump straight to bending her over that desk and pushing deep into her. He can't be too vulgar, or she'll know it's him and he won't get anymore messages.
What are you wearing?
God, he hopes that the person she thinks this is didn't see her already today.
He actually crosses his fingers as he sits back down on the couch.
That skirt you like, no panties
He conjures up the skirt he thinks it must be, that gray librarian skirt that hugs her hips and draws that hot line down her shockingly slamming legs.
No panties?You bad girl.They too uncomfortable? You're soaked thinking of my hands on you. My hot breath on your legs, pushing your skirt up.
He stares at the words, waiting for a response, wondering if he should keep typing or wait for her to respond positively.
He can picture it with an outstanding clarity, for his idled mind. That space under her desk is big enough, he's thought about it before, can almost feel her soft skin under his fingers as he drags her skirt up to give him access.
Then what
He holds his breath
Fuck you're beautiful, sitting there wet for me,I press wet kisses against the insides of your legs, slowly moving up
God... Best Day Ever!
It takes longer for her to respond this time, he's worried that he's scared her off, but the icon that she's typing finally appears.
Then disappears.
And reappears again.
Sorry hard to type with one hand
He reads that message twice to make sure it means what he thinks it does. She's touching herself; she's touching herself for him, because of his words, what he wants to do to her...fuck...
I grab a handful of that pretty blond hair and slide a leg over your shoulder, my heel running hard down your back.
Blond. Blond hair. He grabs a piece of his hair and tries to look at it, is it pretty? Is she really talking to him on purpose, or is it just a beautiful coincidence?
He must be looking at his hair, and trying to decide if it's pretty for too long because his phone buzzes urgently in his hand.
Too rough?
His response is quick.
Fuck no! Please... I slide a finger slowly into you, my tongue flicking hard across you.
He sends it and waits, on the edge of the couch one hand griping the phone tightly, the other slowly rubbing himself through his shorts. He is so hard for her. She should probably know that, so he pauses in his administrations and sends another quick message.
Fuck I want to be inside you so bad, I'm so hard for you... I wish this hand was yours
He does. Fuck, does he ever wish that it was; her soft, warm hand, small and delicate, running slowly down him.
Her response is slow, and he wonders if she's been caught by Ronnie or if a client had come in. Is she typing with one hand? Please let her be sliding those slight fingers deep into herself, wishing it was him.
I want you inside me, hard and throbbing, please, please bend me over this desk.
Thank you god!
He can clearly see himself bending her over that desk, her skirt up high, just fucking dripping for him.
I push you down onto that desk, bent over it, skirt up around your waist, fucking beg for it.
He slides his hand into his shorts and his breath catches at the feel of his hand tight around himself, fuck his imagination must have gotten so much better because it feels like her, like he imagines she'd be, like he's imagined several times before.
Please, please fuck me, I need it, you
It is getting seriously harder to respond with all the blood in his cock, pumping himself on the couch trying to type with one hand.
God your so wet and tight I slide right in, deep, I bet we can shake that second monitor off your desk.
Her response is quick.
I can almost feel you, my fingers are too small, you'd be so much bigger than them, thick and hot. come for me, touch yourself, hard, rough like you're slamming into me. I want to hear you come from here
He sinks his teeth into his lip, his hand quick, pumping himself to completion; the image of her over that desk, fucking begging and writhing under him, crystal clear.
He comes hard with a bark of noise, and it takes him a long time to pull his brain together to form words.
Sticky, I want to taste your skin as you come, can you feel the thick hot cum, I want you fucking filled, want to hear you come.
Do it.
Come right there, stain that chair, quick before they notice, pump your fingers in deep.
He is sticky and needs to change. He hopes he didn't get any on the couch. It's his fucking couch, but Logan gets all weird about bodily fluids in communal areas.
He's fucking spent, but he makes his way to his en suite, he needs a shower and new pants.
He sets the phone on the counter and peels off his shorts. He's working on his shirt when the phone buzzes across the marble counter.
He throws the shirt quickly, across the room, and picks up the phone.
my lip is bleeding... I had to bite down so hard to keep from moaning your name as I came. I stained the chair... I'm such a bad girl... promise to come over to my place tonight to punish me
"Fuck..." The blood made a quick detour from its journey to his brain, he'll need a cold shower now. He can't believe how badly he wants her.
What time?
He's most likely not the blond she wants, but if he keeps her revved up all day the chance that she'll turn him away at the door will be lower and he'll do just that.
Nine, you know the address,right?
It's sitting on Logan's desk, with Wallace's and Ronnie's dad's addresses.
Yeah, I'll bet here
-
He's hard, all over again, by the time he gets to her apartment door. They've been sending little ' when I see you' messages for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
'When I see you I am going to rip your shirt open with my teeth' and like, until it had been difficult to focus on the road.
She has to be as hot for this as him, God, she has to be. He needs to touch her so badly, to taste her, have her fingers twist in his hair, like she promised.
Holding his breath, he knocks on her door and waits to be turned away. Maybe he'll fall to his knees, in the middle of the apartment hallway, and beg her to touch him.
The door opens quickly, and Mac is standing there in that gray tight skirt he loves.
"Hey..." Her voice is low and slow; God he wants to hear her gasping his name. She steps to the side and lets him into the apartment, she doesn't seem the slightest bit surprised to see him.
"You don't seem surprised to see me..."
Her red, wet mouth quirks into a smirk as she closes the door.
"Why would I be surprised? I asked you to come over?"
"So you knew it was me..."
The smirk slides into a smile as she reaches up and takes a handful of his hair, " Of course, I did. Who else would I send dirty texts to? Wallace?" She lets her fingers slide out of his hair and trace the line of his neck, slowly. There's a beautiful lilt in her voice.
"You want to fuck me." He states plainly.
"You want to fuck me." She returns breezing past him, he follows her to her bedroom door, where she stands there with a smile on her face. Her lips are practically calling out to him, and he can see where she had drawn blood. She had been serious, " You do still want to teach me my lesson, don't you?" Her voice seems to sink into him, deep and husky, and pulling what little blood he has left south.
"I've been thinking about you bent over my lap, all day." He tells her, watching a beautiful flush settle into her cheeks, " Pushing that skirt up around your hips, the feel of your skin, the sounds you'd-"
Her mouth crashes desperately onto his, one hand pulling his hair in a way he hadn't known he liked until this afternoon.
When she pulls back from him finally, he's panting for breath and harder than before.
"There are things I want you to do with your mouth, Dick,, but talking isn't one of them."
He nods his head obediently and lets her pull him into the bedroom, where he proceeds to make good on all the things he'd said; filled with the smell and taste of her, and the knowledge that he wasn't some horny consolation prize. He was who she had wanted in the first place, and the moment his hand came down hard on her ass and that low moan fell from her lips, he knew that he didn't want to share her with anyone else, but they can talk about logistics in the morning.
