6: Topping the Hill
By: Princess Sassafras
Notes: Wufei's POV. Citrus warning!
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"Kiss me." His blue eyes pull me into them and suck my body forward. To refuse would be the greatest sin. Refusal is wrong.
I cross the threshold willingly, but at his command. We are here for a purpose, though my brain cannot find it. My heart, though…my heart knows what it is.
The door shuts behind us, a finalization. He crashes into me, and I draw him up.
His lips are sweeter than I have ever imagined, and his touch is electric. When I bring my mouth to his, his whole frame shakes. My body echoes that passion. The blood is pounding in my head. It is pounding all through my body. It is almost too much to bear…almost.
His scent is warm and real, and his hands are real. One runs across my chest…that touch is cruel enough. The other trails lightly over, and over, the crease behind my ear and trails down my cheek to our lips. That hand trembles.
Once I begin kissing him, I cannot stop. His tongue is something I must have. His short breaths are the sweetest air. Kissing him is too much, and not nearly enough.
I put my arm around his waist and pull him into me, and he is so pliant that my body throbs with joy. He arches into me, and moans plaintively. "Wufei…" Our lips separate and he brings his soft mouth to my cheek. No one has ever kissed my cheek. Some woman thought she could have me, thought she could shove her serpent tongue down my throat. But never such a kiss—he raises his head and looks into my face. His lashes are the color of honeysuckle, like his curls. His eyes will be the death of me.
"Wufei, I want you. I need—" It is too much. I cannot let him go on, so I take his mouth again. He sighs and falls heavily against me. If I cannot tell him what my heart wants, I will show him. I turn us around and push him up against the wall, cradling his hips with one arm and his head with my hand. I kiss him as if he is the whole world. He shakes almost violently.
I lean down to claim the hollow at the base of his throat. I conquer it. I feel his pulse rise and fall against my tongue. He touches my hair, far too carefully, and I guide his inquisitive fingers to the tie at the base of my neck. I hear his gasp—of pleasure?—when my hair falls around his hands. I stifle my own gasp in his shoulder. No one has ever done this—touched my hair. It sends shivers up my spine. Especially since it is him, his long white fingers running carefully over my scalp.
I find that I am untucking his shirt, and that he is letting me. Arching to assist me. I lift it and gently touch his belly, the quivering muscles, and the fine trail of hair. I let my thumb dip briefly into his navel, run my fingers over each rib slowly, up and up, and circle his nipples with the lightest of touch. I lean in and kiss each one softly. His fingers clench in my hair. I take one into my mouth, the one over his fast beating heart, and suck. His hips come off the wall violently, but he pins my head to the spot. I am so hard and on edge, I am sure I am no good for him anymore. I run my hands up his sides to his armpits and lift the shirt over his head, being careful of his ears. Then I kneel and press my face against his belly. When I look up it is effortless to smile at him, he is so beautiful. His eyes widen in surprise and delight at my expression. He touches my lips. I take his hand and kiss each fingertip. His eyes fall nearly shut, and darken, and he draws his lower lip into his mouth. I take each finger into my mouth slowly, slowly, and then kiss his palm before moving my lips to his navel.
Clothing becomes an obstruction where it was once a protection. I unhook and unbutton his pants with fumbling fingers—what a tricky make—and fold the flaps of them open. Clean white briefs—his erection fighting the constricting cotton—and something dark peeking above the band of them. I draw the edge down with my fingers and find…wings.
Two perfect wings, like an angel or a bird of prey, one on each side of his smooth hipbone. I run my thumb over the spot. I look up wanting to ask him, but he smiles and shakes his head slightly. He will tell me later. Now is too hungry a time.
I pull his pants and briefs down in one swipe, they pool at his ankles, and his flesh bobs out of the fabric and curls against his belly. Golden curls, of a deeper shade than his platinum hair, cover the space between his thighs, and scatter themselves at random across his pale and beautiful legs. To touch him…
I look up, and nearly orgasm. His face is so full of hunger and apprehension, both, that it is impossible to look for long. I turn away, and to sate my own hunger, bring my mouth eagerly to the tip of his arousal, and suck. The back of his head hits the wall, making a sharp sound without my hand to cushion it. I almost pull away to look up, but his hands lower and seal themselves to my scalp, clenching there in a death grip.
I run my tongue all over him, from base to tip, and suck cautiously, unsure of what else to do. He makes no complaints, but bucks every so often, and moans when I pay attention to the sensitive tip. It oozes fluid, and tastes salty-tangy-sweet. When I move my head further down and then back up while sucking he makes the most noise and the most violent motion. So I do exactly that. And I enjoy every second.
His thighs begin to shake, his panting reaches a feverish pace, and he bends down and seems to want to curl around me, his knees buckling and his fingers fisting further in my hair. I suck him all the way down to the floor. I grab his ankles and spread his legs apart, and suck harder. I raise and lower my head more quickly. I am dizzy with the repeated motion, but I am intensely gratified to hear his moans.
We must make an erotic picture. I, fully clothed and on my knees between his legs, holding them apart and working his flesh with my mouth. He with one hand in my hair and one clenching thin air wildly above his head, or pulling at his own hair, or pressing against the wall. His lips are parted and his skin is wet with sweat. When his muscles finally spasm and he curls up around me, I slow my motions, and my mouth fills with fluid. I lick him clean, and he shudders, murmurs, and strokes my back. I lean up and take his mouth. I have never felt more like a god, or more like a man.
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