A/N: I'm gonna be honest, I didn't realize so many of these in my docs folder were a little smutty/bedroom sceney. I'm posting a few of the prompts I had written a while ago but could never write a proper story around, so don't be surprised if a lot of these start/end abruptly. Thanks for reading and enjoying the last update (and hopefully this one) and to those of you that are waiting for an update for A Penchant for Trouble, it's coming soon. I'm just tweaking it a little.
As always, apologies for grammar/spelling
Disclaimer: Richelle Mead owns all things Vampire Academy. I'm only responsible for the plot, which, by the way, is again a little hot and heavy towards the end so here's the warning if you want to skip this one.
Haircut
Summary: Dimitri distracts Rose while she's trying to give him a haircut.
His hair looked a little shorter, barely growing past his ears, not touching his shoulders the way it used to but it still looked like it had that shaggy, silky texture to it. I used to spend hours running my fingers through his hair, brushing those few errant strands out of his eyes and tucking them back behind his ears. I also used to cut it for him. I'd start from the back and then work my way around until I was leaning over him, nestled between his legs.
"What are you doing?" I laughed as hands found their way to my thighs. I pulled back and stopped cutting so that I wouldn't mess up.
"I'm helping you keep balanced," he said as though it was obvious.
"Oh yeah? Do you do this for all your barbers."
"Only the cute ones." Oh, he was good. Still, I did my best to pretend like his pretty words had no affect on me whatsoever.
"I'm perfectly balanced, thank you."
"Because I'm holding you," he argued with a squeeze.
"If you want to keep me balanced shouldn't you be holding my waist then?"
He feigned confusion. "I thought I was. You're telling me this isn't your waist?"
I shot him look. "You know perfectly well where your hands should be unless you want me to mess up and give you a bowl cut."
Undeterred, he shot me his best boyish smile, an unmistakable, enticing twinkle in his dark eyes as he moved his hands up an inch. "Sorry, anatomy was a tough class for me. I might get a little lost on the way. Here?"
I rolled my eyes, particularly since he consistently had the best grades out of all of us, but played along. "No but you're close. Head north," I instructed.
His hands detoured from my thighs to just beneath my ass.
"Here? This definitely feels right. It's gotta be here," he declared with another firm squeeze.
I jumped and squealed, never ceasing to be surprised by the sensation no matter how often his hands find their way there throughout the day. No matter where we were he'd reach back and either gently squeeze or just hold his hand there before guiding me onto his lap or to lean back against him. I thought it'd bothered me if a guy were to constantly wrap himself around me, that I'd feel smothered. I thought I'd feel embarrassed and controlled if a guy ever put his hand on my butt, boyfriend or no boyfriend, but I actually liked it and didn't mind. There was a sort of thrill to it all, that he craved me as much as I did him. Private, intimate touches like that made me feel more like I was his.
"Your fascination with my butt is a topic for another day."
"These are pretty fascinating too," he added, eyeing my chest right in front of his face as I stood over him.
"I know. They're fabulous," I agreed, jokingly boastful. I was unprepared for when he lunged forward, planting a relatively chaste kiss in the valley that my v-neck left exposed.
"Dimitri!" I shrieked and immediately covered my mouth, hoping no one heard me.
"No regrets. I couldn't help it."
"I could have cut you!"
"You wouldn't have. I trust you," he said with such certainty that if I wasn't already head over heels, I'd have fallen right then.
"I'm glad you trust me but keep still. If you end up with a jacked up haircut because of me, I'll dump you."
"Understood," he mock saluted but his hands were still in intimate territories.
"Then move those hands, buddy, I'm almost done."
"Yes ma'am," he agreed in an exaggerated western drawl like the ones from the old movies he made me watch with him. I leaned over him to start snipping again when I realized his hands still hadn't left me. Instead they doubled back the way they came to the front of my thighs, following slowly along the seam of my jeans before meeting in the center.
"Dimitri Belikov," I admonished. "Shame on you. You're the one that asked me for a haircut."
"And I'm much obliged," he continued in the faint accent, made somehow even sexier by the faint, underlying lilt of his natural Russian accent. "But now I have another request to make." He trailed his fingers to the top of my jeans, popping the button, and pulling the zipper down before spreading them open. When I didn't stop him he smiled alluringly, his eyes darkening as they dilated. He paused with every motion gauging my reaction as he went. He was leaving it up to me, waiting for me to tell him what I wanted.
"What if someone comes in?" I asked, glancing at his bedroom door. I already knew I was going to give in, I just wanted to be cautious.
"Then they'll know we have sex."
I whacked him on the shoulder. "There's no way they don't already know."
"It's your fault for being a screamer," he chuckled, leaning up to nibble my favorite spot just below my ear. I tried to hit him again but the force of my strike wasn't nearly as strong as I'd have liked. His lips and teeth were grazing, nipping and sucking the strength right out of me. I tried to deny being loud but with all the times Dimitri had covered my mouth with his or stifled any noises with the palm of his hand, we both know that'd be a bold faced lie.
"They see your love bites on my neck," I countered. "They know what I let you do to me."
He hummed, a low groan, burying his face in my shoulder. "Keep talking like that and I promise not to stop."
I lowered my voice, close to his ear. "I like what you do to me."
I felt his body shudder beneath me, in sync with my own trembling. Other than his lips at my neck, he hadn't even really touched me yet and my limbs were quivering from the need pooling between them and in my belly. Once his hands slid their way back down, he grabbed a firm hold of my denim clad legs and used his thumbs to softly knead and stroke the sensitive flesh there against the rough material. Just an centimetre or two higher and I'd have sweet friction but he was taunting me, teasing me until I'd break but my stubbornness turned his sensual play into a game of wills. He broke first.
"Tell me. Tell me what you want."
"You already know."
He admitted gently, "I want to hear you say it."
"I want you," I answered without missing a beat.
That honesty earned me one of his breathtaking smiles and a lingering kiss on my lips. He cupped my face in his hands while I grabbed at his hair, holding him against me so he couldn't pull away. It was one of our sloppier kisses, all lips and teeth grazing skin as our mouths slid along each other's in our intensity and urgency to get impossibly closer. Instead of leaning against him, I finally dropped down onto his lap, straddling him to find my own friction since his hands were occupied elsewhere in my hair, the other snaking up my shirt.
My need for the building release quashed any chagrin I might've had as I shamelessly rubbed my center against the taut, firm muscle of his lap. His breathing was as rapid as my own, our warm breath mingling in the inch of shared spaced between us. I was close but not quite there, that one perfect spot just out of reach. I took his hands to guide them back to where they'd started at my open zipper. Without any more prompting, he pulled the material as for from my body as it would go in our position and slid a searching hand inside and, instantaneously, I almost lost it. After countless lazy days and sneaky encounters building practice and experience together, immediately he knew where I needed him most, the tip of his middle finger tentatively dipping inside, testing just how close I really was. While his thumb nudged the tiny bud with the faintest of touches, I bit my lip to keep from crying out at the contact. He smothered the noise with another kiss, this one slower and gentle, his tongue plunging in my mouth with the same rhythm his fingers moved with.
I worked on the front of his jeans, struggling with how closely we were entangled. I cupped him through the material feeling the unmistakable warm, hardness in my grasp but I wanted more. I wanted him to feel as good as I did right now. Frustrated but not wanting to move and disturb the wonderful work he was doing, I broke our kiss for just a second to look down and see what I was doing.
"Ah ha!" I declared triumphantly, making him laugh before placing those smooth, firm lips of his where they belonged. Finally slipping inside the waistband of his briefs I held him in my hand, squeezing him as gently as he had squeezed me moments before. I thought I had to work quickly if I wanted him to fall over the edge with me but he was already half way there by the time I'd made it into his pants. I held him in one hand and stroked him with the other. It didn't take long before he was ready. He grunted, a short stream of his native tongue escaping from his lips.
"Pochti, Roza." We've been together long enough for me to pick up a phrase or two that he'd been willing to teach me. I knew that he was close, especially from the way my name rolled off his tongue.
"Me too...right...r-right there," I panted.
He had two fingers dipping at a steady rhythm inside of me by now and his thumb was working me up into heated frenzy with every second he increased the pressure. I was in a sweet spot, cradled in a cusp between pain and pleasure as he replaced his thumb with the palm of his hand, pressing into me with a pressure I didn't know I needed until right then.
Three solid presses of the bottom of his palm against my center, coupled with his fingers in the ultimate position, and the drawn out kiss, I was a goner. Dimitri followed right after. I buried my face in his shoulder, reflexively biting down on the tender skin there. He silenced his release the same way, smothering his groans into my neck. It was a blissfully sweet while before I was able to sit up and even then I needed Dimitri to help keep me up. I slid my hand out from his waistband to try to reach for something for both of us to clean up with but he kept his hand rooted in place inside my underwear.
Tittering with laughter, I asked, "Do you mind? I'm trying to find something for you to clean your sticky...-ness from your pants?"
"No I don't mind," he shrugged.
"I can't reach with your hand in there," I pointed out.
"Sorry," he apologized not looking the least bit contrite. If anything he looked like a little boy with his hand caught in a cookie jar. Not a euphemism I ever thought I'd use in a scenario like this and yet it seemed fitting.
"Fine then come with me then." As soon as the poor choice of words left my mouth I regretted them and he grinned.
"I already did," we said at the same time as I guessed his response.
"Lean with me then," I corrected, not minding too much still having him close. He was softly stroking me. Not too much to work me into another frenzy but just enough to keep the lingering sensations from my climax from fading away too soon from my memory. I finally reached the towel and napkins and handed some to him. I moved to start cleaning myself up but his hand was still in place. "Dude." I eyed his wrist which was the only visible part of the hand buried in my pants.
He feigned innocence. "What?"
"Dimitri," I failed to reprimand with a straight face. With over the top reluctance, he gave me one final stroke and squeeze before he withdrew. As usual I started to turn away to clean up feeling silly considering what we just did together but he touched my arm to turn me toward him. The orgasms themselves were always fantastic but it was the intimacy like this afterward when we helped each other clean up, buttoned one another up and held each other close, that was the best part.
"Always so beautiful afterward." I could feel the blood rushing back from the nether regions of my loins and into my face. "You look-"
"Sated. Definitely sated," I filled in for him, eliciting a hearty laugh.
"Glad I could oblige." He touched the lightest of kisses to my cheeks, the tip of my nose, and finally to the space between my eyebrows which he claimed was his number one favorite spot to kiss me in public and fourth in private.
"What are the other three places in private?" I asked, curious.
"Your lips," he answered, demonstrating with a kiss to my lips. In one swift motion he lifted me up and onto his desk.
"You could throw your back out lifting me up like that," I warned. The lack of uneven distribution between my height and weight gave me a few extra pounds. It was bad enough I had sat on his lap for so long.
"Stop. Don't do that," he urged me. "You're perfect."
"You only say that because I have sex with you."
"Duh," he joked, squeezing my sides as he leaned down, kissing the tops of each breast. "These are definitely my third favorite but I'm not sure if I should count them as one or two."
"I leave that up to your discretion," I said dryly.
I smiled and continued. "I count them as one since both are particularly sensitive," he reasoned. "And lastly, your lips."
"You said lips already," I pointed out, confused.
"Not those lips." Before I could stop him he pressed me back and lowered himself down to the apex of my thighs. He didn't make it to the center the way I'm sure he wanted but it was close enough that a faint aching need was stirring within me again. His arms circled my waist, stroking the lowest part of my back. "I almost forgot about that spot right about..."
He gently pinched the skin at my midriff and moved to plant a kiss there too but I had to stop him because I had a feeling if I didn't, we'd do this all day.
"Nope. No more of that," I squirmed, wriggling off the table and away from those tempting hands of his. I eyes his hair that looked good even though I hadn't quite gotten to the front. "Lemme finish up." I pressed on his shoulders, trying and failing, to force him to sit down. I didn't miss the way he winced when I touched a sensitive spot as he finally sat. He pulled his shirt, to peak at what it was that hurt. My gaze immediately zeroed on the exposed tender and reddened skin where my teeth had bitten down.
"I'm so sorry," I gasped. It didn't look too bad but definitely deeper than I'd ever bitten him before.
"I'm not. Now everyone will know what I let you do to me," he deadpanned, tossing my words right back in my face. His confidence and heated look in his eyes helped assuage some of the guilt but I still felt bad...and a little powerful. "For now I'll wear it with pride, but eventually," he said as he leaned close enough for his lips to brush my own, "at my next haircut, I'll have to return the favor."
