Hey, ladies and gentlemen: things are heating up in this section! If you don't like reading naughty bits, SKIP THIS!
Note to Warinbabylon: ok, Warin, I didn't make it to the actual sex yet, but I AM working on my promise for a looong scene! It can't be rushed: after all, what's better, 3 or 4 pages (a quickie) or a luxurious long interlude of about 15 pages! But I did promise to post, and here it is.
It was very different, this kiss. Neither awkward nor tentative, his lips caressed hers, feasted on them, devoured them. She slipped her arms around him, ran her hands up and down the smooth expanse of his back, trailed her nails lightly along his spine and smiled against his mouth when she felt him shudder. There was no tension in him now: at least not the tension of nervousness. He'd pushed it away, let it go. And in its place was the sweet peace that came with surrender. With his yielding came more than acceptance: he was aroused now, eager, ready to match her desire with his.
His mouth left hers and trailed kisses over her face; quick tiny kisses that fell on her cheeks, forehead and chin like raindrops. When he reached her throat he slid his lips down the skin hard and fast and was rewarded with a guttural gasp as she arched against him. He continued down, fingers kneading her breasts as the kisses left damp imprints on her chest and stomach. He gave the soft mounds a final caress before his hands moved to her hips, gently squeezing them, marveling at her contours and how they differed from his. Intellectually he knew this, had always known it: biology and physiology classes were thorough, clinical, but thorough. But here, now, her body beneath his, he could fully understand. A woman's body was made for a man's, perhaps that was so... but HER body was made for HIS.
When his mouth went lower and grazed her navel Tegan felt a jolt of excitement and apprehension. She was intensely aware of his lips and hands, how they were moving slowly down her body. It was almost more than she could stand, and if he went any further...
"Doctor," she whispered.
He paused mid-kiss, hands grazing the sensitive flesh of her thighs. "Yes, Tegan?"
She swallowed hard. How the hell did she say what she needed to say? Shoot from the hip, she decided: anything else wasn't her style. She did, however, draw a deep breath first.
"You seem to be..."
"What?"
"Heading south," she blurted, then kicked herself hard mentally for being flippant.
He chuckled, his breath light and warm against her stomach. "I'm glad to know your sense of direction is impeccable."
She exhaled fiercely. "What I mean is... you don't... have to do anything you don't want to," she said, knowing she sounded lame but unable to put it any other way.
He raised his head. "I'm not doing anything I don't want to."
"Oh," she said weakly "That's good. I mean-"
"Tegan."
"Yes?"
"Hush."
She hushed.
He lowered his head again, his lips a scant inch away from the juncture of her thighs. They grazed her dark curls, his fingers tracing the shape of the hair before slowly slipping further.
When he found her center she cried out softly, biting her lip, her hands clenching and unclenching against his back. He brushed one thumb over her, his other fingers resting against her pubic bones, watching the expressions that crossed her face. She was in pleasure: he could see that. But how much? How could he be sure he was doing what she wanted?
"Tegan," he whispered.
"Doc?"
"Show me, Tegan."
Her heart froze, then hammered in excitement. "Show you what?" she asked, voice husky.
"Show me how to please you."
She shook. She hadn't misunderstood him, then. "Do you really want to-"
"Yes, I do. Please," he whispered. "Show me."
Fingers trembling, Tegan slid her right hand down until it rested against his. Never had a man asked her to do this: either they were too afraid, or they assumed that whatever they were doing was creating fits of ecstasy in her. Sometimes she enlightened them otherwise: sometimes they were doing a decent job on their own. But no one, no one had ever wanted her to tell him, show him. And the fact that it was the Doctor, his voice so earnest, so sweet, so innocent but sincere, made her insides quake. And she felt no shame, no hesitation. Only a desire to share of herself with him, to batter down her doors and his doors and allow them to tumble eagerly into each other's arms.
She moved her fingers over, bringing his along. "Here," she whispered. She placed her hand on his and guided him, taking his fingers where she wanted them to be. "Like this." And she worked them in a slow, easy rhythm. After a minute or so she moved her hand back slightly, and he continued, copying her actions perfectly. "Oh, yes," she gasped.
He smiled-somehow she felt that he was smiling-and continued. He felt her arch her back, heard her quiet gasps. When her hand had been on his, the simple eroticism of it had aroused him so much it was painful. Part of him had wanted to stop, to join his body with hers and ease the fierce ache growing inside him. But he wasn't going to do that yet. Not until he knew he had brought her to that peak and taken her over it. Again and again.
Note to Warinbabylon: ok, Warin, I didn't make it to the actual sex yet, but I AM working on my promise for a looong scene! It can't be rushed: after all, what's better, 3 or 4 pages (a quickie) or a luxurious long interlude of about 15 pages! But I did promise to post, and here it is.
It was very different, this kiss. Neither awkward nor tentative, his lips caressed hers, feasted on them, devoured them. She slipped her arms around him, ran her hands up and down the smooth expanse of his back, trailed her nails lightly along his spine and smiled against his mouth when she felt him shudder. There was no tension in him now: at least not the tension of nervousness. He'd pushed it away, let it go. And in its place was the sweet peace that came with surrender. With his yielding came more than acceptance: he was aroused now, eager, ready to match her desire with his.
His mouth left hers and trailed kisses over her face; quick tiny kisses that fell on her cheeks, forehead and chin like raindrops. When he reached her throat he slid his lips down the skin hard and fast and was rewarded with a guttural gasp as she arched against him. He continued down, fingers kneading her breasts as the kisses left damp imprints on her chest and stomach. He gave the soft mounds a final caress before his hands moved to her hips, gently squeezing them, marveling at her contours and how they differed from his. Intellectually he knew this, had always known it: biology and physiology classes were thorough, clinical, but thorough. But here, now, her body beneath his, he could fully understand. A woman's body was made for a man's, perhaps that was so... but HER body was made for HIS.
When his mouth went lower and grazed her navel Tegan felt a jolt of excitement and apprehension. She was intensely aware of his lips and hands, how they were moving slowly down her body. It was almost more than she could stand, and if he went any further...
"Doctor," she whispered.
He paused mid-kiss, hands grazing the sensitive flesh of her thighs. "Yes, Tegan?"
She swallowed hard. How the hell did she say what she needed to say? Shoot from the hip, she decided: anything else wasn't her style. She did, however, draw a deep breath first.
"You seem to be..."
"What?"
"Heading south," she blurted, then kicked herself hard mentally for being flippant.
He chuckled, his breath light and warm against her stomach. "I'm glad to know your sense of direction is impeccable."
She exhaled fiercely. "What I mean is... you don't... have to do anything you don't want to," she said, knowing she sounded lame but unable to put it any other way.
He raised his head. "I'm not doing anything I don't want to."
"Oh," she said weakly "That's good. I mean-"
"Tegan."
"Yes?"
"Hush."
She hushed.
He lowered his head again, his lips a scant inch away from the juncture of her thighs. They grazed her dark curls, his fingers tracing the shape of the hair before slowly slipping further.
When he found her center she cried out softly, biting her lip, her hands clenching and unclenching against his back. He brushed one thumb over her, his other fingers resting against her pubic bones, watching the expressions that crossed her face. She was in pleasure: he could see that. But how much? How could he be sure he was doing what she wanted?
"Tegan," he whispered.
"Doc?"
"Show me, Tegan."
Her heart froze, then hammered in excitement. "Show you what?" she asked, voice husky.
"Show me how to please you."
She shook. She hadn't misunderstood him, then. "Do you really want to-"
"Yes, I do. Please," he whispered. "Show me."
Fingers trembling, Tegan slid her right hand down until it rested against his. Never had a man asked her to do this: either they were too afraid, or they assumed that whatever they were doing was creating fits of ecstasy in her. Sometimes she enlightened them otherwise: sometimes they were doing a decent job on their own. But no one, no one had ever wanted her to tell him, show him. And the fact that it was the Doctor, his voice so earnest, so sweet, so innocent but sincere, made her insides quake. And she felt no shame, no hesitation. Only a desire to share of herself with him, to batter down her doors and his doors and allow them to tumble eagerly into each other's arms.
She moved her fingers over, bringing his along. "Here," she whispered. She placed her hand on his and guided him, taking his fingers where she wanted them to be. "Like this." And she worked them in a slow, easy rhythm. After a minute or so she moved her hand back slightly, and he continued, copying her actions perfectly. "Oh, yes," she gasped.
He smiled-somehow she felt that he was smiling-and continued. He felt her arch her back, heard her quiet gasps. When her hand had been on his, the simple eroticism of it had aroused him so much it was painful. Part of him had wanted to stop, to join his body with hers and ease the fierce ache growing inside him. But he wasn't going to do that yet. Not until he knew he had brought her to that peak and taken her over it. Again and again.