Sounds of You
by misscam
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Written to a prompt asking for Charming or Snow tied up having to listen to the other pleasuring themselves. It kinda went from there.
II
Sometimes, he really should know when to keep quiet, Charming thinks ruefully. But the problem is that he likes noises – Snow's noises to be specific. He loves her sighs, her moans, her panting, her whimpers, her cries of his name – loves them all and was fool enough to confess it.
He should have known she would do something about it. He just didn't expect it to be the moment he fell asleep, making him wake up quite naked and quite tied up.
Snow makes a satisfied sigh from the bed as she slips her nightgown off, and he swallows, and then swallows again. He's tied to a damn chair next to the bed and he can't touch, can't kiss, can't feel. Can only listen and watch, and both are like agony.
Her breath isn't quite calm, he notices. It seems to catch every now and then when she meets his gaze, her eyes dark. Without looking away, she cups her own breast and makes a small, satisfied noise.
That noise, he thinks, and swallows. He loves that noise, the one she makes in anticipation of pleasure. He just loves the ones that follow even more.
"Snow," he pleads.
"You said just listening to me was pleasure in itself," she reminds him, and he wishes he was less of a fool. Gently, she leans back against the pillows and brushes her fingers across her nipples. He watches, his fingers itching with memories of how her hardened nipples feel to play with as she does exactly that to herself.
He isn't sure how much time passes. It feels like hours, the time between every noise she makes like an eternity, but it might just be minutes. She's moaning now, very, very softly and barely audible. It's still enough to make his throat feel dry.
"Snow," he says again, but it manages to sound almost like a moan of his own. "Let me touch you."
"Where would you like to touch me?" she murmurs, her voice husky.
"You know where," he growls, and her hand slips between her legs. Oh, hell. "Snow..."
She makes that noise, that half-whimper and half-moan, at the first touch of her own fingers. His breath catches, and he watches how bright her face looks with pleasure. Her lips part, and she makes a sharp gasp at whatever her fingers are doing. He can only imagine what, as he can't quite see from his angle, and somehow that is even more tantalizing.
He clenches his jaw as she continues touching herself, breathing harder between her soft sighs of pleasure. He knows those sighs. He likes to feel them against his own lips, to feel them mingle with his own.
He groans, and he could swear she smiles at that, his damn vixen of a wife. Her hips are rocking slightly against her hand now, he notices, and she's making breathless, impatient moans.
Listening is pleasure, he decides. It's also a damn torture.
"Snow," he pleads, straining against his bonds. They seem to give just a little, so he relaxes his arms, then strains again.
Snow whimpers, her body tense. He knows she's close, so close now, and with a last effort he manages to strain his bonds enough to tear his arms free. In two steps he's out of the chair and into the bed, feeling Snow's body flush against his as he embraces her.
She makes a confused gasp, but he puts his hand over hers and keeps it in place between her legs. After a moment, he can feel her move her fingers again, and then she comes.
She isn't silent. Snow hardly ever is, often biting into his shoulder to swallow her cry when they have to keep their lovemaking relatively quiet. He likes that. He likes it most of all when it's his name she cries out sharply, like now, followed by heavy breathing slowing into satisfied exhales.
She watches him through lowered eyelids as he eases her further into his arms, her nibbles brushing against his chest and making him moan softly. She can no doubt feel just how hard her little show has made him, but he has every intention of making damn sure.
"Snow," he says, and she smiles a touch wickedly, then bites her lip.
"Sorry," she says, not sounding the least bit sorry. "I couldn't help myself."
"Good thing I can't either then," he says, pining her arms above her head and kissing her hard, demanding, thoroughly. She sighs at that, and he swallows all her delicious sounds as she arches into him. He can feel her fight slightly against the grip he has on her hands, clearly wanting to touch him. As pleasing as that might be, he decides to let her suffer for a while and see how she finds not being able to touch.
Soon, she's making impatient noises into the kiss, pressing herself against him. Her body is warm, soft and smooth against his, and oh, oh, oh. He can feel his own desire mount a stronger and stronger assault on his self control, but he manages to simply keep kissing her and holding her for a few more heartbeats.
Then she makes that noise, that damn way she growls his name into his mouth and he is lost.
He lets go of her hands to flip her around, and she scrapes her fingers across his chest as he adjusts her position to straddle him and sit up himself. He keeps kissing her through it, allowing her noises to reverberate into his mouth as his hands help her lower herself onto him.
They both make a satisfied moan at that, and she practically hums as he lets her move as she wants for a while, mostly rocking back and forth on him. He is content to let his hands roam the faint arch in her back, the curve of her buttocks, the sides of her breast, all the while kissing her and tasting her noises.
She whimpers when he slips a few fingers where their bodies are joined, clearly still sensitive from her own fingers. It only takes a few soft rubs to have her whimper again, but she gets her own. She clenches her muscles around him, and he makes a rather undignified whimper at that himself.
She locks her legs around him as he flips her around yet again, pressing her into the mattress as he begins to thrust. She makes a soft gasp at each long, measured stroke, and he knows his breath catches every time he's buried as deeply in her as possible.
Snow, he thinks, possessively, happily, lovingly. He might even be moaning her name into the kiss, faster and faster as the pace of his thrusts increases too.
He definitely cries out her name as he comes with a shudder and breaks the kiss, feeling her bite into his shoulder seconds later as she too is claimed by an orgasm, her second. They lie panting and entangled for several minutes, and Charming nestles his head against her breasts, feeling and hearing each breath. Even that sound, he loves. He loves all the sounds of her, quite simply for being hers.
"Right," she says after a while, and he chuckles, lifting his head to see her smile at him. "Not exactly what I had planned."
"What, you were going to keep me tied up in that chair and force me to listen helplessly to more of that?" he asks, giving her a stern look. "Snow, once was torture. Twice..."
She smiles coyly. "No. I was going to keep you tied up, but it would have been your turn to be touched and my turn to listen."
His mind goes quite, quite blank for a moment. Then it's filled with images of Snow's hands on mouth on him and he damn near makes an utterly ungraceful sound at just the thought of it.
He swallows, and swallows again.
"Of course," she murmurs huskily, drawing a finger across his parted lips, "I don't have to tie you to a chair to do that. I could just tie you to the headboard."
He can only nod, unable to make a single sound.
She soon changes that, though; he ends up making noises he didn't even know he was capable of.
FIN