My Dear Sexy Stranger
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned and portrayed herewithin are the sole property of the person(s) who came up with them, and are being borrowed without permission, for no profit whatsoever.
Summary: Boy meets girl. Girl ignores boy. Boy leaves in a huff. Girl chases down boy and jumps him. And a good time is had by all. Cutesyfluffy DrakeWendy married!smut. For 30kisses theme #12, 'in a good mood'.
That man has been staring at her all evening.
Wendy takes another peek over her shoulder, and turns hastily away again when she catches his eyes, narrowed and piercing and a beautiful dark blue. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his lips curving up into a faint smirk.
She smiles into her drink, heart thudding rapidly, face flushed. Her head is spinning just a little, and she can't tell if it's the gin, or that gorgeous, broad chest shown to marvelous advantage when he leans back against the bar on both elbows.
Holy God in Heaven, he's stunning. That chest; and those eyes; muscled arms that fill out the short snug sleeves of that white tee-shirt very nicely; thighs that look rock-hard, especially encased in snug, faded denim; and that choppy ponytail that's just the right length to brush her skin while he moves over her and...um.
She takes several absent gulps of her drink, and then chokes slightly – there's not nearly enough tonic in this one, no matter what absurd thing Mr. Joker used to say about the correct proportions of half and half.
When she peeks back at him again, shifting slightly against the vinyl seat of the booth, he's still watching, arms crossed, laugh-lines crinkling his eyes at the corners. Pouting briefly, she flags down a waitress and requests a refill, and then waits with a smug little smile until the pretty redhead returns, drink in hand.
His reaction doesn't disappoint; when she peeks once again over her shoulder, he's glaring, and even after she turns airily away, she can feel his eyes burning into the back of her neck as she calmly sips at her drink.
It's strange, she thinks absently against the temptation to turn and look at him again, that the more of this she drinks, the weaker it tastes.
I suppose that's the key to truly appreciating quality spirits – get yourself smashed first, and anything starts to taste good.
After fifteen minutes and several more dainty little sips that eventually become impatient gulps, she thanks the waitress and bartender cheerfully, settles the bill, and slips into her coat just in time to notice that he's gone.
With a whimpered curse, Wendy bolts for the door beneath the knowing grin of the leggy redheaded girl who's been observing the sparks flying between two of her industriously drinking customers all evening.
"Pay up, Charla," the stocky, bearded man at the bar rumbles good-naturedly. "You said they'd be leaving together."
"There's still time," Charla says airily, nevertheless handing over one of fives that the little blonde started giving her for tips somewhere between the second and third drinks of the evening.
But damned if she doesn't wish she hadn't already taken her smoke break, so she could accidentally wander into the back alley.
That little brat's been driving him crazy all night.
The hem of her tiny denim skirt sliding up a bit more every time she moved, the demure flush in her cheeks every time she looked his way, and he can swear that he caught a faint whiff of arousal just before she crossed those gorgeous little legs tightly, squirming in her seat until he'd been compelled to bunch up his jacket in his lap to hide the notable evidence of his own interest.
And after all that, she went back for another drink and didn't look his way again.
Drake crosses his arms and leans back against the brick wall of the building, keeping carefully out of sight as a tallish, skinny little shape trots into the alley after him. Carefully silent, he watches her approach, and makes a lightning-quick grab for her as she passes.
With a low chuckle at her startled squeak, he swings her around until she's pressed tightly between him and the wall.
"What the hell took you so long?" he demands on a low growl against her forehead, stirring her hair.
Breath catching in her throat, she still manages to smile entirely unconcernedly up at him.
"The special tonight was double gin and tonic. I couldn't resist another."
"So that's what, three?"
"Four," she replies guiltily, squirming wildly in a futile effort to dislodge his weight.
A surprised, breathless whimper escapes her as he presses in against her more closely, hands planted just above her shoulders, arousal tight against her hip.
"That why you were coming on like a drunken prom date all night?"
"Partly," she murmurs, cheeks growing brightly pink, trying to scoot back and giving up in despair when her back scrapes painfully against the rough brick. "Maybe I just like big, dumb Americans."
He makes a thoughtful noise against her temple.
"Huh. I can't say snotty, bratty little English girls have ever really been my type."
His teeth nip almost painfully at the shell of her ear, and she gives a sharp cry, hands bunching in his shirt.
"I'm the exception?"
He grins; her cheeks are still flushed, but that impish, bratty little smile she's been tossing him all night is all but gone. Now, her lips are deep red from being bitten to keep quiet, and slightly parted, her eyes wide and expectant and just a little bit nervous.
"You're a lot of exceptions."
It occurs to her very briefly to ask exactly what that means, or if he's just trying to utter vaguely complimentary phrases to get her into bed.
But just as she's decided that getting her into bed is a plan that has her full approval, one hand tangles in her hair and yanks her head back. She starts to formulate an outraged protest at the hair pulling, but trails off into a gaspy little moan as he licks wet trails over her throat, teeth scraping and nipping at the tender skin.
Her fingers clench tightly in his hair, her other hand running over the broad length of his back to press him closer. He chuckles against her skin, deliciously soft and smoky from hours in a bar, and the low, rough sound and his quickening breaths send tiny chills racing through her, crackling with heat.
One large, callused hand slides up under her thin cotton tee shirt, and as unexpectedly deft fingers move her bra aside, she gives a squeak of protest, swallowed almost immediately in a heated kiss. There's no gentle coaxing, no soft stroke of his tongue over her lip; just a sharp nip of teeth until she gasps against his lips and he takes the opportunity to claim and explore.
She moans shakily into his mouth as he rolls one nipple gently between thumb and forefinger, and at an almost painful squeeze, the sound turns to a startled cry.
"Calm down, kiddo," he admonishes, frowning down at her, thumb still brushing light circles over the rosy bead. "Unless you want an audience."
"Maybe we should go somewhere else?" she purrs into the front of his shirt, before dragging him closer for another kiss.
He is truly amazing at this, she decides, eyes fluttering closed in time with the flutter in every electrified nerve as he catches her wrist and traces the rapid beat of her pulse. She grips his arm tightly with her free hand and sighs happily as the muscles jump under her fingers.
The first shock of cold at her back draws a yelp from her, and he smirks, pulls her shirt up farther, and presses her closer into the wall of the bar.
"I think I like you here," he murmurs, and leans down to drop a light, scalding kiss at the slope of one exposed breast.
"What if someone comes by?"
He looks up, one eyebrow quirked.
"Hopefully, they'll take a look at what's going on, and take off."
"And if they decide that we're just asking to be mugged?"
Another chuckle.
"Just relax, and be glad that we're not all as easily distracted as you."
She stiffens in outrage.
"I am not—" she begins, trailing off into a whimper and arching against him as his mouth finds the soft, sensitive underside of her breast.
"Sorry, what was that?"
Fixing him with a glare, she forces her breathing to slow.
"Git."
"Yeah, I know," he murmurs absently, brushing featherlight kisses over the rosy bead tightening in the cool night air.
He suckles gently, tongue swirling lazily over her, and looks up curiously, hiding a smirk, when she chokes back a cry and squirms pleadingly against him.
"I guess it's true what they say," he chuckles between kisses and gentle nips. "The smaller they are, the more sensitive. Ow! Hey!"
He's up in an instant, pinning her absently in place with one hand at her wrists and one leg trapping hers, and rubbing at the sore spot where her knee connected with his chest. When he turns back to glare at her, she shivers slightly, nevertheless glaring right back.
"They're not small," she mutters sourly, trying to wriggle her shirt back into place.
"Didn't say it was a bad thing," he shrugs. "You ever heard the old saying, anything more than a handful and you risk a sprained tongue?"
She blinks.
"Em, no, I don't think so"
"Well, a sprained tongue's nothing I want to risk, and from what I can tell--" He cups a hand over one breast. "--you've got a pretty nice handful right here."
Before she can respond with more than an astonished gape, he releases her wrists and yanks the hem of her shirt back up again, licking wet trails over smooth, dusky skin. She grips his shoulders tightly as her knees seem to melt at the heat of his mouth ringing through her, and he groans against her when she starts massaging gently, those little hands sliding down the back of his shirt to rub firm circles over his neck and upper back.
He runs one hand down over the curve of her hip, and up the inside of her thigh, and feels his blood pressure increasing and his jeans tightening at the sensation of warm, slick, downy-soft skin instead of cotton or satin.
"No underwear?" He peers up at her, and she looks quickly away, cheeks flushing so deeply red that he decides not to ask about the absence of the pretty blonde hair he expected to find, too. He smirks. "If you're not careful, you're going to make me think you planned this."
As he speaks, he's tracing one finger lightly over her slit, and she makes a soft, pleading noise, trying to squirm against his hand.
Brows furrowing, he reaches around and slaps her backside lightly.
"Not yet." He grins again. "You want to make me think you're easy, or something?"
"You're horrible!" she huffs, trying unsuccessfully to shove him away and cross her arms.
He catches her eyes, one hand rubbing absently at her breast, still damp from his kisses, and frowns again.
"So was sending me those looks all goddamn night, and then ignoring me for another drink."
"But you're still going to get what you want!"
A good-natured chuckle, and he slides one thigh between hers. Another laugh at her long, choking moan as the rough fabric of his jeans rubs deliciously over the source of the fierce ache clouding her mind.
"I think we can work something out for you, too."
"I wanted to drag you back to my hotel room and throw you down on the bed," she pouts amid gasps as his hands find her bottom and rock her closer in steady, rhythmic movements.
"And I told you," he rumbles softly, lips brushing her temple, "I'm fine right here."
Somewhere at the very back of her mind, she thinks dimly that she should be horrified by this, in a filthy back alley somewhere, groping and rubbing through...well, some of their clothes like a pair of lust-addled teenagers.
Not to mention, she's leaving a hell of a mess on him.
But just as she's drudged up the willpower to stop him, insist upon the hotel and his clothes on the floor so she can see if he looks as good underneath as he feels, he grinds her roughly against him one more time, and the tightening knot of unbearably sweet pressure shatters, sending tremors of heat through her as she shudders against him and buries her face in his shoulder.
"Sorry," she finally mutters, muffled by his shirt, and he laughs, one hand coming up to stroke her hair.
"Glad you enjoyed yourself."
She nods, shooting him a self-deprecating grin as she tries to catch her breath. His lips land at her temple again, hands tight at her waist.
"Wanna get out of here now?'
"Shouldn't we take care of you first?" she asks, eyes wide and innocent.
He hesitates as she rubs affectionately against him, and grits his teeth against the effect of her feverishly warm skin, and the saltysweet scent of her arousal, and her eyes, wide and innocent and bratty and irresistible.
"How far's that hotel room of yours?"
Not far at all, my dear sexy stranger.
Of course, she doesn't bother to say it, just seizes his arm and hauls him away, and lets him find out for himself when a few minutes later see her fishing clumsily for her keys.
"Good thing you weren't driving," he mutters, rolling his eyes slightly when a metallic thud announces that she lost her grip for a third time. As she stoops to find them, he takes the opportunity to admire that nice little rear end – not to mention, the dampness glistening at the tops of her thighs when that skimpy little skirt rides right up.
"Sue me," she huffs, straightening up so suddenly that the top of her head nearly breaks his nose. "I get a little flustered when I drag handsome men to a hotel for the night."
She can nearly hear his eyebrow quirking up as she turns back to the door, and bites her lip at the heat of his chest against her back when he crowds closely behind her.
"That happen often?"
"Only when he's really special," she beams up over her shoulder just as the door swings open.
With a sound that's half a growl and half a moan and absolutely the most amazing sound she's ever heard from a man, he scoops her closer, hands at the backs of her thighs, and lifts her for a kiss.
The door bangs shut as she lands against it, and she yelps into his mouth, legs going automatically around his hips as her arms tighten at his neck.
"Don't worry, I've got you," he chuckles, the breathless sound brushing her lips before his own claim her mouth again.
A long moment later, she glares playfully.
"Is there something wrong with the bed that I don't know about?"
"Alright, alright," he grumbles, stalking over to the bed, still wearing a little Wendy-blanket, and bouncing the aforementioned across the subdued, yet distinctly ugly bedspread, with its deep green leaves, deep purple berries, and deep red background, the whole thing outlined in brief shimmers of gold.
He climbs onto the bed next to her, and within a scant second and a half, she's on him, one skinny little hand working joyously at his fly. With a laugh of disbelief, he catches her hand.
"Good God. Your husband take a vow of chastity on you, or something?"
She glares icily, nevertheless tugging her hand from his and prying at his button.
"I'll have you know, he's a fantastic lover."
He grins.
"Good to hear. Bet he's got you well trained."
Looking up from her task, her expectant smile as his button pops free turns smug.
"Well, he keeps trying, but it never really takes. For example," she adds, grin back in full force as she slides one hand beneath the waistband of his underwear, "I've a really hard time being patient."
"Your husband probably doesn't mind," he chuckles breathlessly as she grasps him firmly, wrestles his jeans and underwear away, and then leans over to drop a light kiss at the tip of his length.
She flashes a charming little smile up at him, then licks delicately and trails her fingers gently up and down the shaft. A bolt of heat arrows through her as his hands tighten convulsively in her hair. Obediently, she crawls closer, shoving his knee impatiently out of the way. He laughs, the sound melting into a low groan as she leans in again and increases the pressure, tongue swirling wetly. Her hand finds his thigh, and her purr at the warm, soft skin sends tiny bolts of sensation through him.
It's not hard to drool over her new friend, she thinks with a little giggle, licking until his length is damp and slick beneath her hand, and then grasping firmly, moving in slow, steady motions interspersed with gentle little licks and kisses.
That fierce, burning ache deep in her own abdomen grows and intensifies as he shifts and bucks against her; the sensation of having him completely at her mercy is really kind of nice, now that she thinks about it.
Well, maybe thinks is the wrong word, she amends, massaging his leg with her free hand and picking up speed with her lips and tongue until his sounds of pleasure are almost continuous. With the noises he's making, there's not a lot of coherent thought going on in her head.
"That's enough; get back here," he half-orders, half-pleads, propping up on his elbows.
Eyes flitting up absently to meet his, she smiles serenely and shakes her head. Before he can protest, she slides her lips down around him and sucks gently, and again, less gently, when he thrusts more deeply into her mouth.
She can't make out anything he's saying, but that low, rough whisper is more than enough encouragement, and she continues, picking up speed and pressure until he tenses and gives a sharp, winded shout.
This isn't nearly as bad as her friends made it sound, the sudden spurt of bittersalty warmth. It's not the most pleasant moment of her life, maybe, but she'd happily go through a lot more to see that look of bliss on his face, the cynical quirk she's been wanting to smoothe out of his eyebrow all evening finally gone.
He holds out his arms, and she scrambles immediately up into them.
"Please tell me you never did that for anyone else," he sighs, swiping at the sweat streaking his forehead and running a thumb lightly down her cheek.
She blushes brightly and nuzzles closer against his shoulder.
"Well, a little, but I really, really didn't want to."
Protectiveness overriding possessiveness easily, he turns sharply.
"What?"
"I—I just mean, they'd ask, and I wouldn't want to, because it was...well, a little embarrassing."
"You didn't seem embarrassed," he notes, leering playfully.
The thunk of her fist at his shoulder, and a slightly hysterical little giggle.
"Not with you, silly. I just meant, with as much as men generally, em, like that sort of thing, it was a little bit embarrassing to find out that I was...you know, doing it wrong."
"Doing it wrong," he repeats, voice flat with disbelief.
Her blush deepens.
"I'm glad you don't think so."
He laughs.
"No way. In fact, any time you're ready—"
The rest of his statement is cut off into a startled whoosh of air leaving his lungs via one partially-clad little blonde landing heavily on his chest, legs clamping tightly at his hips until her skirt morphs of its own accord into a belt, the blazing heat of her core sliding teasingly over his rekindled arousal.
"Okay," he notes curiously. "I guess we're ready now."
It occurs to him briefly to stop her, make her ask nicely, tell him in great detail exactly what she wants, put into words those fuck me please looks that have been driving him crazy all night. But he's already not thinking too clearly, with her rubbing and squirming away like that, so when she shifts and wriggles down around him until they're barely joined, he just grabs her hips and pulls her closer, burying himself in her warmth.
This isn't going to last long; she can already feel his fingers start to dig into her skin, his motions as lifts and lowers her rougher and less steady each time; and the mild pain only makes the sweethot pressure condense faster and burn all coherent thought to ash until it barely registers when he exhales on a long, shaky groan, swells inside her, and floods her with heat.
As he starts to soften and slip out of her, she cuddles up and kisses his forehead, damp with sweat, shivering as the light sprinkling of hair at his chest brushes deliciously against sensitized skin. With a deep, unsteady laugh as her thighs tighten convulsively at his hips, he reaches between them, finds the hardened, sharply sensitive bud at her core, and rubs firm, quick circles with one work-roughened finger. Wondering briefly if she's found herself a mind reader, she wraps her arms tightly around his neck and muffles a cry in his shoulder as waves of sensation rip through her and leave her limp and trembling against him.
His hand at her hair, stroking mussed, sweat-drenched strands off her cheek, draws her back to reality a long while later, and she reluctantly lifts her head to give him a drowsy smile.
"C'mon, let's get some sleep," he orders gently as she climbs stiffly off him and into his arms.
She props herself up on one elbow and gives him a look of feigned shock.
"All night? Don't you have someone waiting for you somewhere?"
"Call me crazy," he replies, wrapping an arm around her waist and permitting himself a brief internal chuckle when she snuggles obediently closer, "but I don't think she'll mind."
"And how do you know that I don't have someone waiting somewhere else?"
"Just a hunch," he growls, his arm at her waist tightening. "I'm taking you home with me, so he'd better get used to it."
She eyes him sternly.
"Now, that is assuming a lot."
He glares down at the top of her head, and she could almost swear that her hair is starting to singe.
"I think I earned the right to assume things when I married you, bonehead."
Her laugh bubbles up from nowhere, bordering on giddy, as she flings herself on top of him in a warm bearhug.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're really hot when you're all territorial?"
"Thanks. Anyone ever told you you've pretty much raised brattiness to an art form?"
"Mostly just you," she replies cheerfully.
He rolls his eyes briefly, then smirks.
"Sorry I broke character."
"That's okay; I'd rather spend the night with you than the sexy stranger." She hesitates. "Em, Drake?"
A grunt, indiscernible as human language.
"I'm sorry if you didn't enjoy the game."
He shoots her a look of pure disbelief.
"Where the hell were you all night? I enjoyed it just fine. I just go a little nuts at the idea of another guy in the picture."
She winces at her own thoughtlessness and the slight twitch in his jaw.
"Because of Maggie's mum?"
He shrugs, striving for casual, but she's always been good at reading people, and gives him a comforting little squeeze.
"Yeah, partly. But that's not your fault." He smirks, slightly bitter. "How long have I known you? I should know that you don't drop a guy for nothing. Or, you know, for being a slimy, ice-cold megalomaniac."
"Can we leave him out of this?" she pouts, trying and failing to slap his rear while he's lying on it. "All things considered, he wasn't that bad."
"Don't tell me that," he orders with a wince of his own. "And don't try to convince me that the reason you still think I'm just keeping you around for the coffee wasn't that bad."
Her eyes mist over, and she can almost hear his inward groan as she sniffles.
"I'm sorry," she burbles into his shoulder. "It's really stupid to still worry about it, and it was really horrible to say things that touched a nerve just because I've got some silly middle child complex."
"You sure being Joker's little part-time toy didn't have more to do with it than your genius, superstar siblings?"
"Of course he had something to do with it. But it wasn't his fault I was stupid enough to stay with him."
"Right; he took advantage of a scared, lonely little girl every step of the way, but he didn't make her scared and lonely in the first place. Someone give the guy a medal."
She shivers slightly as he adopts that I'd like to break someone's neck right about now look he gets whenever she talks about Mr. Carpenter. It passes quickly, smoothing out into slightly awkward gentleness, but she still makes a mental note to step carefully – some habits die hard, after all.
"Listen," he says quietly. "Whenever you need to hear it, I'll say it, okay? I'm not going to change my mind and throw you out, and you're a lot more than an afterthought or a convenience."
Surreptitiously wiping the tears off his arm, she gives him a wobbly little smile.
"Thanks. If you like, I can compile a list of all the reasons you're the most wonderful person in the world, and all the things I want to do to you when you wear those jeans."
He grins.
"You know I'm going to hold you to the second one the next time I have a bad day, right?"
"If you like, we could go through numbers one to ten right now," she suggests, eyes wide and hopeful.
He catches her hand gently as it meanders down his chest.
"Maybe we should save some for tomorrow."
She props herself up on both elbows to stare at him, expression one of flat disbelief. As the soft, warm curve of her breasts presses tightly against his arm, his pulse, just recently settled to something approaching normal, speeds right back up again.
"Are you in any danger of running out in the near future?"
His grin flashes back into existence, stretching nearly beyond the confines of a human face.
"Alright, let's hear 'em."
End Notes: Darnit! Darnit, darnit, darnit! This was supposed to be about a thousand words of cutesyfluffy married!smut, and it turned into four and a half thousand words of cutesyfluffy married!smut with a side order of mild angst! How does that always happen?