AN: Somehow this has become a JH cliché, one that I personally love. Anyway it's been done about a hundred times, but I think it's fitting.
She never tires of how endlessly wrong all of it is. How she should hate the calluses on his fingers; how she should dislike the soft hair that covers his face, but how she can't seem to muster that hate. The lust she feels for him is animal just like the hate would be—if she could still manage it. Because, try as she may, to convince herself that it is just a meaningless fling she knows it isn't.
It's the little things that tell her. The way he caressed her face after their first time. His deliberate ministrations designed to take her to heights Michael never had. The care he puts into every moment of their togetherness. Because he might say he hates her—and in all reality he probably does—but in these moments he is Steven. He is her Steven.
But this time is different; this cements something in her heart. Back on his cot just the same as every other day. Languid kisses being shared on a stormy afternoon. A rumble of thunder shakes the house, and she giggles into his mouth, says something unimportant and they continue to kiss.
His hand makes its way down to the front of her shirt, and she prepares for the days usual festivities. Second base and if he's feeling generous, a well-placed knee, or even fingers, between her thighs. She waits for him to slide down the straps of her shirt, and is surprised when he pulls back. He studies her face, and for a moment, she becomes lost in the blue of his eyes, the blue of a winter sky. "Jackie, if" he stumbles over his words unsure of how to word what he's thinking, "do you…want to… ah screw it never mind." He leans in to kiss her again his hand finding her breast and flicking her nipple through the thin material of her shirt. His mouth turns upwards into a smirk as he feels that she's not wearing a bra.
They continue like this in their normal pattern. Kiss. Grope. Smile. Until she can feel his hands leaving a searing trail to the south—to the place where she had decided to grant all of him access only a few short days ago.
He flips open the button on her Capri's, and then looks to her asking permission with those crystalline eyes. She should say no. She should slap him. But all of those thoughts disappear when he places a gentle kiss just below her belly-button. She nods, unsure if she actually meant to approve of this behavior. She knows that, after what has happened, it is more than just a fling. She knows, but she can't find it in herself to give a damn when he slips off her jeans and panties in one fell swoop.
Suddenly exposed before him she feels so very naked. It makes sense—being that she is without clothes—but it's more than physical. She feels emotionally bare in front of him and it's both exhilarating and terrifying.
He begins to kiss up her thighs and she stops him with a questioning look. "What are you doing, Steven?"
"I thought you wanted—" He begins a mild freak-out thinking that he misinterpreted her signals.
"I do. It's just…your mouth?" Her statement is accompanied by a look of pure confusion, and he is forced to remember again that she is so innocent when it comes to matters of physical gratification.
"You mean Kelso never went down on you. Not once the entire time you two were dating?" She nods meekly.
"He said I wouldn't like it anyway." Hyde is overcome with the urge to punch his best-friend.
"I think you'll like it. You just have to trust me." He never thought he'd tell a girl to trust him. Just like he'd never thought he would go down on a chick that guaranteed about a zero-percent chance of returning the favor. Who knew a ninety-five pound cheerleader could make him such a puss. But with her sitting there with those wide eyes staring up into his with—was it admiration or maybe something else—a mix of lust and neediness; he decides. He can't resist making her feel good.
She is beautiful except he doesn't use that word. He says hot or sexy or cute. But in that moment she is beautiful and sexy and he wants nothing more than to make her feel all of the things he knows Kelso never could.
She nods again and says, "I trust you Steven," and if that isn't the weirdest turn-on ever he picks up where he last left off.
Jackie has heard girls talk about this before. In the locker-room at school, she remembers hearing about the first time Pam Macy got "eaten out." That night she'd gone to Michael and asked him about it. He told her she wouldn't like and she'd believed him—until now.
She'd believed it until she sees that look in Steven's eye that tells her Michael was being an idiot. She'd believed it until Steven told her to trust him, and she does.
She trusts him so she relaxes back on his cot waiting for whatever this may entail. His hands trail down her sides to pin her hips to the bed, and she wonders why. Placing a wet kiss just inside her knee he begins to make his way up her thighs. Alternating nibbles and licks until she can' contain her moans—her hips moving of their own volition making her realize why he is holding them down.
There is a warm breath exhaled just millimeters from where she wants him most. A brief moment that seems to take years as he lowers his lips to her most secret place.
She feels her body's reaction before she truly experiences it. His tongue is making delicate circles on her clit and everything tingles in the most delicious way. Her hips begin to move again trying to find a rhythm that will satisfy her growing need for release.
"Stop moving." The words are muttered as he continues his quest, and the vibrations go right to the pit of her stomach creating an abiding warmth. Feeling her body still he removes a hand from her hips and guides it delicately to her entrance.
It is hell not to move when he places an explorative finger inside of her. He begins to pump into her slowly as his mouth continues to ravish her clit with gentle suction. He adds another finger to the first; pumping a bit faster and curling them at the right moment to hit that sweet spot.
She is lost in a sea of sensation. His hands and mouth have worked her into a frenzy and she knows what is coming next. She can feel it building somewhere deep inside of her. She knows she is going to scream just as her climax hits her. She grabs his pillow to muffle her cry as she shouts the reason for her ecstasy.
He can feel her whole body tense in preparation for her orgasm, and then the vice-grip of her muscles spasming around his fingers. But the real kicker—the boost to his ego—is the way she screams his name as she hits her high.
AN: I'm trying to make this about a teensy bit more than just sex. Although it is all an excuse to write smut I feel like I should characterize them a little as well. Anywho please review. :) Tell me if I did well because I don't really know if my smut is any good (one of the problems with authors is we are shitty judges of our own work).