Lick Me Till Ice Cream

Established Relationship PwP in the Lemon Tree Series, Written for Smutember 2019.

It's smutember you guys! So here, have some VERY plotless porn without plot to start this month out. I'll have another fic for you out within the week! So, settle in, enjoy this plotless ride, and celebrate sex-positivity with me!

"So, what should we do later?" Usagi asked Mamoru in her most suggestive voice as she accepted her ice cream cone from the vendor and stepped away from the cart. "We could go finish that movie, or…"

She trailed off, tilted her face up, batted her eyelashes, she tried. (It was a little hard against the hot, harsh sun, and she might have blinked a bit too much. Maybe.)

Mamoru barely gave her a glance (instead he glanced at her ice cream as she lifted it to her mouth) and gave her that sweet but indulgent smile and shrugged his pretty shoulder. "Whatever you want, Usako…"

She huffed into her ice cream.

That's how it had been all day.

For someone who had been in a relationship as long as her, Usagi really was remarkably horrible at flirting.

She witnessed Minako at it all the time – the sultry looks, the funny and completely inappropriate texts that were so shockingly suggestive they ALWAYS got the job done. The way Minako could make even all the GIRLS (including her) flush from zero to one hundred with just a smirk and a twitch of her eyebrow and that little hum she did when she looked you up and down and gave the verdict 'yum'.

Usagi really couldn't do that.

Though not for lack of trying. Especially today.

Today, she wanted it all. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fact that he looked so ridiculously pretty with that hair failling into his eyes and that white T-shirt and the sunglasses and that stupidly attractive curve of his lips, but today she wanted the impossible. Wanted a Mamo-chan that she could knock out with just a look. (She knew it was a steep goal, she knew that.)

It wasn't even a special day. Just a normal Saturday. Mamoru had picked her up from home after breakfast because for once she hadn't spent the night in his small one-bedroom apartment, and because she didn't have a shift at Osa-P today, they went shopping.

(One year – just one year to go and he was done with university and they could afford to move in together!)

But she was on a mission. She wanted to flirt the pants off her long-term boyfriend if it was the last thing she did. Wanted him to combust with want. So, what if they've been together for over 5 years? She could do this. She could!

She couldn't.

Throughout, she'd tried everything.

She did all the things Minako did. Baring her throat a little, standing a bit too close, brushing her finger against the inside of his wrist. The small things. She wore that thin, loose, white cotton shirt he liked, and she wore it in a way that her bralette peaked out juuuust that tiny bit on the side but in a way that was still modest in the harsh summer heat, and she wore it to her thin, colorful, high-waisted swing skirt that made her waist look amazing and her legs even more so. She looked super cute! She'd small-talked with and smiled widely at the cashiers in the shops to maybe make him just that tiny bit jealous, and she'd undressed him with her eyes at every corner, crossed her legs slowly whenever she could, touched her lips often, all of it.

He hadn't reacted. Just that blank, dark, lingering stare.

She was beginning to think he thought she might be possessed or something.

As one of her last resorts she'd taken him lingerie shopping.

He'd patiently waited outside of the changing cubicle on the pink, plush ottoman, stupid-sexy legs folded primly one over the other, and when she'd asked through the door if he wanted her to model the one she liked for him, he'd called in that he was good, and if she liked it, they'd just get it.

Taking one long, frustrated lick of her ice cream, she followed him around the corner, away from the hustle, and towards home, sweat and frustration pooling at the nape of her neck.

One corner more, and it instantly grew silent, just the cicadas and the asphalt and the heat and a few parked, dark cars and a dog barking somewhere far away.

While they walked, footsteps clicking on the ground in rhythmic, synchronized dull thuds, her handbag was hanging from his gorgeous wrist along with the two slender paper bags that held his new books and the new volume of her currently favorite manga, as well as the scorned new pair of failed-seduction underwear.

She wrecked her brain for more Minako pick-up starters and settled on one last attempt.

"You know, I dreamt of you last night," she said, tilting her head and her ice cream at him and watching him over the top of it, licking slowly bottom to top.

He nodded, shaded pretty blue eyes turned to her, blank and staring, completely unaffected.

"I know… You already told me this morning."

She sighed hard. Right. Oh man.

And she couldn't even be mad. Because even though it was absolutely not working at all, he'd been completely patient and sweet, and his sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose and made him look stupidly attractive and argh.

She pouted into her ice cream, hopped in front of him, making him stop right in the middle of this alley with a start, and fixed him with a glare.

"If you could be doing anything with me right now, what would it be?" she asked, eyebrows feeling fierce on her face.

He slid his sunglasses to the top of his head (it made his hair look a little disheveled and it's so unfair that it looked so good), and just fixed her with that long, calculating look again. The one with the dark eyes and the impassive stare he'd looked at her all day with.

She threw him a long, irritated look that he returned with that complete blank expression, willing him to at least react a little, but he didn't.

Her look slipped into a sigh and she lifted her cone back to her mouth for a pouty suck.

And so she was completely surprised, when - that same unemotional, dark look still in his eyes - he grabbed her wrist, halting her ice cream just inches away from her opened mouth, her waiting tongue, and bodily backed her into a wall.

Except it wasn't a wall. It was a tiny nook. The wall was next to her. Behind her were the backs of a row of tall, metallic, humming vending machines, and the shadowed back of them was cool.

She bumped with her back off the surprisingly pleasantly temperated metal, Mamoru towering over her, and looked at him in wide-eyed surprise.

His dark eyes didn't leave hers at all when he bent down, his hand locked around her wrist, to lick at her ice cream where it had dripped onto her fingers.

She nearly dropped it in shock (of course she didn't. It was still food. Food was holy. But, ya know.)

Up close, with his hair falling into his eyes and bent down to gaze at her so, so… sultry, she finally saw his expression wasn't blank at all.

He took his time, his tongue sticking out and carefully licking between her fingers, lifting her hand by her wrist like she had her cone, tilting it, licking along the rim of her cone only to catch the drops that melted down onto her hand.

When she tucked her ice cream back down, wide-eyed (when had her heart started hammering?) his mouth and his eyes followed, and they turned a shade darker even when she bent forward.

Never in her life had she been as conscious of her own tongue leaving her mouth as when she let it free to lick her captured ice cream bottom to top just now.

He hovered. Close. Her wrist in his tight, tight grip.

"Do that again," he breathed, and his voice was so low that it did two things: One, it went in a straight and direct line to wake up every single bit of lady parts she owned that hadn't already been on high alert all day, pooling wet in her panties and making her bra itch against her nipples and, two, it finally allowed her to notice that not only had he backed and pressed her completely against the back of these vending machines, his knee was also firmly between her thighs.

And so, obviously, she couldn't do anything but obey the breathy command and licked her ice cream again. This time even slower, her tongue wider, catching more of the milky treat.

"Hmmm," he hummed, low and guttural and she swore he was operating on a frequency that sent directly to her vagina.

"Again," he ordered, eyes glued to her tongue.

She swallowed, thick and hard, the cool cream running hot down her throat, ran her teeth across her lower lip to catch what lingered there, then let her tongue slide past her lips again, eyes stuck to his, and licked, long and flat and slow up her cone.

He moaned.

And before her tongue was back in her mouth his other hand was on her chin and he tilted her up and, before their lips even met, his tongue stroked into her mouth, slid wet and rough and insistent against her tongue and stole from her.

The action shot through her body so hard she thought she might have become one singular, melting throb. All she could do was exhale one harsh, pitiful whimper and follow his lips when he retreated from her just that fraction – and whimpered again, one dying, chortled noise produced somewhere between her nose and her throat, when she saw his lips where stained slightly in the color of her ice cream.

Her chin was still in his hand, and while the other had left her wrist to stem against the metal behind her head, boxing her in, he peered down at her with his eyes the shade of arousal and his tongue peeking out to clean his lips of her food and holy damn—

"You're driving me crazy today," his too low voice said too slowly, chin tilting slightly up and his eyes jumping to her trembling lips as she breathed out harshly.

"You…" She tried to control her breathing. She tried. "You really didn't let on…"

He raised both eyebrows at her, as if she was being ridiculous, as if he'd been all sorts of obvious, and then he leant forward again and licked one long stroke up her ice cream.

"Keep eating," he rasped, and then he slid to his knees.

Her mouth popped open, and before he'd even made it down an inch, she must have jerked wildly, because the vending machine behind her rattled and donged when her elbow jerked against it.

He lowered himself down painfully slowly, those dark and dangerous and unfair eyes looking up and staying on her face, the delicious pressing weight of his hands gliding down her body until they rested at the hem of her skirt – and then they glided up and beneath and what the fuck—

"Mamo-chan?!" she whisper-shouted in a tone clearly meant to say 'have you gone insane', or 'have you forgotten where we are', or 'have you forgotten who you are'?!

But he held her gaze, kept the smirk, just lifted an eyebrow as if in challenge, and his palms spread across her legs and then they were on the insides of her knees and shit—

"Eat!" he reminded her again, but his eyes were full of amusement, and what was left of her ice cream was dripping.

The slightest pressure and she melted, and his hands were brushing up the insides of her thighs and spreading her apart, still that look of challenge in his eyes.

Her thighs were scalding hot on the inside, clearly demonstrated by the way his hands on them were surprisingly cool, and it felt like she was catching fire.

Her ears were ringing, her mouth was agape, her eyes were wide. Mamoru – Mamoru – was about to go down on her in a deserted alley tucked behind a row of vending machines. The guy who sometimes blushed when she attempted to give him a tiny peck on the escalator.

Right. She knew what was up. He was probably fully expecting her to make him stop.

Well, no, no. If he played that game, she wasn't gonna lose.

But his eyes didn't flash in surprise when, instead of clamping her legs shut, she mutely unlocked her knees and let him open her right up. His smirk just turned a little wider – and she was reminded with a start that this wasn't only her sometimes very overtly prissy Mamo-chan, this was also Tuxedo Mask. Rose-throwing, corny speech-holding, on-tall-things-standing, makes-an-entrance, flamboyant, over-the-top Tuxedo Mask.

On his knees. Under her skirt. Behind a vending machine. In the middle of the day.

She swallowed, and to his pointed stare, she lifted her cone back to her lips, and he gave a self-satisfied, infuriating little nod.

And then she accidently pushed her whole lower lip into her ice cream and made unintelligible, protesting yet way too eager sounds because his thumb was underneath her skirt and between her legs and brushing along her panties, his head tilting at her in amusement.

It was unfair of course; he was too good at this. His hands too careful and delicate and unobtrusive even when he literally had his hands on her bloody crotch, and his thumb did that light brush up and down the patch of fabric that covered her that he'd practiced to perfection in the past. She had no chance.

She whimpered into her ice cream. She was pretty sure there was some on her nose now, and she licked her lips, only to be followed by a squeak, when strong hands grabbed around her knee and she would have fallen if she weren't in the safest hands on Earth, and instead was bodily steadied against this metal box when he lifted one of her legs and draped it across his shoulder, his hand spread around her thigh.

And then his breath was on her panties and his thumb pressed against her entrance above the damp fabric and the back of her head painfully hit against the vending machine.

She held her breath, vanilla melting on her tongue and down her hand, and his hand slipped into the seam of her panties, just one, long, elegant finger of him, carefully pried it aside, and then his lips wrapped slowly, carefully, delicately around her clit.

Apparently, Mamoru had decided today was as good a day as any to kill her.

Her eyes popped open in surprise – and really it should not have been surprising, given she'd intimately seen the way his tongue had made love to her ice cream just before, that his mouth would be cold, and yet it was.

It was, at first, the kind of soft, innocent, sweet peck he'd sometimes greet her with, the kind of kiss he'd say hello with, the kind he'd withdraw from with the softest smile, and when he settled back on his heels and let her clit go, she just knew he was doing the same.

She couldn't keep the whimper from escaping. It fell past her lips even when she was biting down on it hard, and when he bent forward again, she could feel the smirk against her.

His tongue was even colder than his lips, and she exhaled harshly into her shaking cone, and died a small death when Mamoru's tongue licked the same kind of stroke up her slit, bottom to clit, that he'd just licked her ice cream with.

If anyone would have walked into the alley, chanced a look behind the next corner to see who was making these obscene noises, they would have found a guy on his knees with his tongue against a girl's vagina while she cried into an ice-cream cone with her skirt bunched up around her hips, and somehow this was probably simultaneously the weirdest and best thing that ever happened to her.

Anyone could have seen. But she couldn't care, because his tongue.

His tongue found a rhythm, licked her in a way that almost felt as if he was cleaning her out and he was as meticulous as ever to not miss a spot, licked carefully around the edges of the oversensitive nerves of her entrance but never allowing his tongue to dip in, up her lips and running, slowly, achingly from her entrance to just below her clit before circling it and going back. It was slow, delicious, frustrating torture.

Bottom to top, bottom to top. Just like her ice cream.

Her pink-polished toes curled in her sandals in an almost cramping way and her free hand found his scalp and fisted into his hair, knocking his sunglasses right off, pulling, pushing him further against her.

He got the hint, and when his lips finally wrapped around her clit again, it wasn't just a peck this time, it was a hard, strong suck that smacked noisily and made her even wetter just from the bloody sound of it.

She whimpered, but even when his hand that held her thigh so very securely snapped up to softly slap at her hand in his hair because apparently she was gripping too hard, he pressed his tongue flat against her clit, swirling, swirling, and then sucked again.

She loosened her hold on his hair with cramping fingers, yet the moan this time was visceral, and turned into one of sudden grief, because her cone fell ice-cream-first onto the grey asphalt with a dull, smacking splash.

"Nooo!" she wailed, but it died in her throat, because his chuckle sent delightful vibrations through where it was attached to her clit.

"I'll buy you a new one," he told her crotch, thumb hooked into her panties, tongue licking back down her slit.

She began to lose it when he started to nibble at her lips and back up to her clit, and moved his thumb to swirl around the nerves just below the entrance of her vagina, up and over it and dipping in just that bare second, just that bare minimum, before dipping back out and swirling around again, fingers slick with her.

Oh wow. Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.

His swirling thumb at her vagina, his tongue back on its course licking hard from her entrance to the hood of her clit, over and over, and her thigh started to shake and her inner walls started to flutter and her face was out of her control and her balance in immediate jeopardy.

She came with a harsh grunt and eyes squeezed shut and her lower back arching off the vending machine wall even when his hand had shot up and away from her sex to forcefully push her hip into the metal so she wouldn't fall.

She exhaled harshly, eyes shooting open and disbelieving into the blue, blue sky above, and his tongue was still licking, now slower – licking her clean.

Several moments in which he lazily stroked his tongue against her slit, her lips, and now it was a caress, and she sighed and looked down and her smile must have looked love-struck and stupid and drowzy had he been to look up, and she stroked her hand against his soft, soft hair.

And then she jolted when she heard footsteps and laughter near the alley, and his head shot out from under her skirt. It fluttered down and back to her knees when he jumped up and grabbed their bags and her hand to pull her out of the nook, and within a second, it looked like nothing had happened weren't it for her unsteady legs.

Except it had, ridiculously surreal as it was, and she was half convinced it couldn't have, except Mamoru was looking at her with a smirk that was so outrageously smug all while wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and fucking winking at her as he pulled her along.

Halfway there she still wasn't done contemplating if this meant she was better at flirting than she thought or if he was, and a little longer and she realised he was taking her back to his place and not to hers.

"Hey!" she called out once she did, jerking them to a halt.

"What?!" He blinked.

"Ice cream!" she scolded. "You promised me a new one!"

He chuckled even when he rolled his eyes, and ultimately, he turned them into the nearest conbini.

She got a tub of it this time. With sprinkles. To take home and eat off of him. (His suggestion. Wtf.)

(She really didn't know what it was that had worked so well today to have this result, but she was going to find out what it was one way or another, so she could do it forever.)

For all of you who aren't usually on tumblr: I'm on there with my usual penname and I'll be reblogging everyone's smutember contributions, so check them out, too! This fic right here was written for the 'Established Relationship' trope, and because the world needs more cunnilingus.

Anyway. Statistically seen cunnilingus it the surest way to ensure a female orgasm. Sadly, it's not at all normalized quite in the same way that blow jobs are. Which we can totally change. So there.

Also, forever thanks to my beta Uglygreenjacket who will have to beta a whole lot of smut this month for me. Sorryyyy.