Author's Note: So, this is my attempt at creating my own peice of Naomily goodness. I'm not sure how long it will be, or how long it will take to churn out of my head. Hopefully not too long. I pretty much have scriptmanip and niceoneBlondie to thank for my sudden burst of inspiration. I thoroughly enjoyed reading their work, and hope someone out there enjoys mine.
* I do not own skins... which still breaks my heart, but I'm taking it one day at a time.
Your breath is ragged, catching with every brush of her tongue. Her rhythm is slow, back and forth, with just enough pressure to almost send you over the fucking edge. You reach your arm up and back to grab hold of the headboard, for fear you actually will manage to fall off some invisible cliff that's materialised in your bed. She moans into you, the vibrations of which seem to ricochet through your body. She moans again, louder this time, and you feel it ripple through you. When she does it the third time, louder still, with more force and urgency, it damn near tears you at the seams. You're so fucking close. The pace quickens, you're almost there.
"Grab my balls!" Wait. What?
Your eyes snap open, hand stilled in the elastic of your knickers, the vision of red hair splayed over your stomach dissolving as the sounds of sex drifts up the hallway and into your room. Your arm drops from the headboard and you run your hand through your hair with so much agitation you're sure you've pulled out a sizable clump of strands. You focus on catching your breath because you're sure your lungs are trying their hardest to break free from your chest.
"Fuck sake." You're kicking the sheets off and sliding out of the empty bed, stomping through your room like a girl on a fucking mission. Frustration building with every step. "Well fucking sick of this shit!"
You trudge the short distance up the hall to the offending door, hearing the unmistakable sounds of a full-blown shag-a-thon coming from the other side. You pound your fist on the door like you're right fucking mental.
"COOK! Fucking Christ. Keep the volume down to a minimum, yeah! Not everyone wants to hear whatever Slag you've got in there test her fucking vocal range!" Which is followed by the moans of a woman having what could only be described a rather intense orgasm. You hammer on the door for several more seconds for good measure. You hear the door knob turn and step back. The door whips open revealing Cook, standing in the doorway, shirtless and wearing and toothy grin.
"Alright, Blondie?" He says while zipping up his fly, looking bloody pleased with himself. "Didn't mean to disturb you Naoms. Was just finishing up a little job I started last night." You hear the soft rustlings of his latest conquest from behind him. No doubt trying to find her trashy outfit from last night.
Peering over his shoulder you can only just make out the shoulder length auburn hair in the dim lighting, caused by the early morning sun trying to break through the curtains. She pulls her top on and turns around. You damn near choke as she walks towards the door, and stands behind Cook, her face coming into full view.
"Thanks for a great time Babe. Next time don't make me, like, wait all fucking night for it. I have got a fucking life, you know." She pushes past Cook and stands in front of you with a scowl on her face. You stand there in shock, looking like a proper mong. "Are you gonna, like, move or what? I've got places to fucking be."
"Right." You move a step to the left, letting her pass. "Sorry." You watch after her as she heads down the hallway towards the front door. Once you hear it swing open then shut you turn towards Cook, who is watching you expectantly.
"Katie Fitch. You're fucking Katie Fitch now? Katie fucking Fitch!" He's laughing now, which only fuels your disgust in the whole situation. "Cook, for Christ sake. How the fuck can you honestly think this is ok?"
"I don't think about it, Blondie. I just do it. Less stress that way." He flashes a cheesy grin and waits for the next onslaught of criticism.
Just when you thought your level of frustration couldn't get any higher than being interrupted while rubbing one out. Then you're thinking of her again, seeing the red hair and feeling your face grow hot with the memory. Too bad you never got to finish. You were so fucking close. Fucking Cook!
"Blondie?" Hearing your name snaps you out of the moment you were creating in your head again. "You alright? You look a little red." He's smiling now. Why's he smiling? "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's the shade of pink that comes only from, well…cumming." He's laughing now, the kind of laugh that sounds like a howl, a noise only Cook could produce. "What have you been up to this morning?"
"Oh fuck off!" You flip him the finger. "Fucking perv." He howls again and heads off down the hall, strutting like he owns the fucking world. "And don't think I'm going to let this go, Cook." You call after him. "Fucking Katie Fitch is a bad idea."
"Don't be so sure about that Blondie." He turns around to face you, continuing down the hall away from you, walking backwards now. "She's fucking mint. Can't get a better shag than a Fitch, yeah?" He turns again and heads for the front door, throwing out another howl just to piss you off, you suspect. No, I can't imagine there is a better shag than with a Fitch, but Katie's not it. And that red hair flashes through your mind again.
You head back to your room in defeat, kicking the door shut with your foot. You sit on the end of the bed and think about picking up where you left off earlier, then you remember the look on Cook's face when he called you out on your extracurricular activities. Mood killer, that is. Fucking Cook!