Pairing: Roy/Jade
Rating: NC-17ish
Word Count: ~900
Prompt: (612): He wouldn't let me leave his house until he made me orgasm once for every year I've been alive. The birthday sex song did not prepare me for this.
... ...
She'd be lying if she said she didn't come here to end up in bed with him.
Sex is pretty much her only reason for coming here and they both know it. He stopped asking her so many questions after the fourth or fifth time it happened, mostly because he caught on to the fact that she wasn't going to tell him how she kept getting into his apartment and what she'd been up to since he last saw her.
But tonight she was waiting for him with a bottle of champagne and a bar of dark chocolate, and obviously he figured there must be an occasion or something since she normally doesn't bring anything. And it wasn't like she was planning to tell him it was her birthday. She just expected the insanely hot sex that he's so good at giving her, but then they were sitting around the table and not really paying attention to the news channel the TV was turned onto while they drank and ate chocolate, and she was buzzed enough to let it slip out.
She's glad that it did.
Honestly, if she'd known that telling him it's her birthday would get her special treatment, she would've started with it.
"God," she breathes. He's kissing her throat, his fingers tracing patterns over her hip, and…
She wonders if you can die from too many orgasms. Like, she's seriously wondering it, because she lost count of how many he gave her last night and she feels tired and just thoroughly fucked. It's basically the only way she can describe it, and it's kind of the best feeling ever.
Well, that's up for debate. This morning she woke up with him kissing the inside of her thigh and she ended up coming twice with his tongue pressed against her folds, because he would not stop lapping at her after her first orgasm until she was coming again. Then he kissed his way up her body as she was coming down from her second high, asked how old she turned today as he was pressing against her entrance, and she'd muttered, "Twenty-five," because he obviously wasn't going to give her anything until she confessed.
Then he'd rolled his hips and she moaned as he sank into her, kissed her throat because he knows it drives her crazy and murmured, "More than halfway there," against her skin. She wonders if he's being serious.
Considering that it's almost noon and she hasn't left his bed since last night, he probably is.
"Too much?" he asks.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't get confident."
He doesn't respond, just reaches for the bottle of water on the nightstand, uncaps it and hands it to her. She should probably feel a lot more embarrassed about how exhausted she is, but it'd be stupid to pretend like he isn't the best sex she's ever had. She'd never, ever tell him that, but he probably already knows.
God, she's begged him a few times already, because he was feeling bold with his teasing and she was desperate enough to not care and moaned his name like he mattered.
If he doesn't know how much she loves their sex, he's an idiot.
She takes a few gulps of water, leans back against his chest when he starts pressing kisses to her throat again. She's going to pretend they're not as soft and gentle as they really are, just like she's going to pretend that she doesn't love them as much as she does.
"Are you bothered by the fact I'm older than you?"
He pauses to look at her. "Why?" he asks.
She shrugs, because she honestly doesn't know where that came from. He's fucked her so thoroughly that she doesn't know where any of these stupid thoughts are coming from, let alone if she's thinking them to herself or saying them out loud. And they are stupid thoughts, because only people in relationships think of them and they're not in one.
When she doesn't answer, he sweeps her bangs from her face and kisses her temple. "Does it bother you?"
"Not anymore," she says.
She feels him chuckle. Then he asks, "So, did you really not want to celebrate your birthday?" and sounds almost surprised, so she kind of has to give him this weird look because, honestly, he's one to talk. She remembers exactly what he was like during his depression about being a clone (that, thankfully, he's starting to come out of a little) and she's pretty sure if she'd brought anything about birthdays up a few months ago when he was a lot worse, he would've made a big fuss about it. She doesn't know why hers is any different.
"So getting an orgasm for every year I've lived doesn't count as celebrating?" He shakes his head, amused. "You're not done, by the way," she reminds, because yes, she's been counting ever since she figured out how many times she came last night.
"I'll give you the last three after we get lunch."
"What?"
"Go to lunch with me," he tells her.
"No," she laughs. He kisses her throat. "Red, we're not going out to lunch to celebrate my birthday. We're doing just fine here, and I know what's going to happen. We're not going to end up coming home right away and then I'm going to have to wait until we go out to the dinner you'll talk me into before you finish what you started."
When he doesn't respond, she looks over her shoulder at him, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and, god, when did she become so transparent?
"Fine," she huffs. "But those last three orgasms better be the best I've ever had."
He grasps her chin with his fingers, brings their lips together and kisses her kind of gently, and yeah, somehow she just knows he's not going to hold out on her today.
