(It's smut, shameless smut, nothing else.)

Morning Glory

He can't even imagine a sight sexier than this: Skye clad in nothing but his shirt, wrinkled after having spent the night on the floor, her hair deliciously ruffled, biting her lip and looking up at him like she knows a dirty secret (well, she most definitely does). It takes every ounce of his willpower not to ravish her right then and there.

Her tongue darts out to lick her upper lip, and he can't help but remember what she did with that tongue last night.

"Hi," she breaths. It's still kind of foreign to him – talking, making idle conversation just for the sake of letting the other hear your voice. But he likes it.

"Hi," he answers, stepping closer to her. She moves almost instinctively, rising to meet him, standing close enough to reach – still not close enough. She places her hands on his bare shoulders, pulling herself up to kiss him. It might start out chaste, lips on lips, soft caresses, but the fire soon ignites, and suddenly, it's not enough. Suddenly it's teeth nibbling and tongues exploring, and there's a moan tearing free from her throat as her hands slide down the hard planes of his chest.

When they part, desperate for air, suddenly he's not that fan of that shirt anymore – it looks great on her, of course, but he knows what's beneath it (her dark nipples even peek through the white fabric, teasing him mercilessly), and he wants that now – wants to see it, feel it, taste it.

So he reaches for the buttons, starting from the bottom, working his way up slowly, torturously slowly, just to tease her. His eyes never leave hers for a moment; he loves seeing the desire burn in her gaze, slowly consuming every rational thought. Her breaths are already coming in little, irregular pants, and he has barely touched her yet.

Finally reaching the last button, the shirt falls open, revealing her breasts to him, glorious mounds of flesh covered in soft, tan skin, the pert nipples hard, pebble-like. He flicks one of them, more teasing than tentative. She arches her head back, offering the column of her neck to him.

"Grant…" she sighs, a needy, arousal-fuelled sound. It's all he needs to hear.

He grabs her hips, and with one swift move he places her on the table (something clatters; they must have pushed something off table, but he couldn't care less), and the next moment his mouth is on her – on her neck, sucking hard to leave a mark, then down, down, his lips wrapping around one of her nipples, while his hand massages the other, neglected breast. She moans and whimpers and buries her fingers in his hair, pushing him down, down.

He'd hate to deny her anything.

He gets on his knees.

Her underwear forgotten somewhere in the bedroom, there's nothing to stand in his way as he spreads her thighs wide.

He touches her with a single finger first, just to test the waters, brushing along her lips with the pad of his fingertip, then delving deeper, pushing into her just a bit before pulling out and rubbing her clit for a second. She's already wet and ready and inviting, but he still thinks she deserves some extra attention. So he lowers his head, his tongue finding her at once – he hears her gasp, and the next moment her hand is on his head again, pushing him closer. He works on her diligently, licking and lapping and nibbling and sucking, working her up until she's on the verge of release, until the surface of the coffee left on the table starts trembling.

Then he stops, pulls away and stands up. Skye lets out a little whine, missing their connection already, but he can see in her glazed eyes that she knows that he won't leave her hanging, that the best part is yet to come. Bracing his hands on the edge of the table, he leans forward and kisses her, letting her feel herself on his lips.

When he frees himself from her – she barely lets him go – it's only for as long as he gets rid of his underwear, kicking it away, letting it fall where it does. His erection springs free, proud and achingly hard. He pumps it once, twice, relishing in the feeling, but barely being able to keep himself from just pounding into her.

He gets as close to her as he can, her nipples brushing against his chest, as he slides his member along her wetness, coating himself with her juices. As he's readying himself, her arms wound around his neck, pulling him even closer, while her mouth finds his again, taking his lower lip between her teeth, nobbling at it gently, seductively.

She gasps, throwing her head back when he finally penetrates her, sliding home into her heat in one, forceful stroke, burying himself in her completely. He gives her a moment to adjust – her walls fluttering around him –, then starts moving. Letting go of the slow buildup he pounds into her with quick, measured thrusts, her hips moving in tandem with his. Her arms still around his neck, and her legs locking around his waist, he grabs her ass and practically lifts her, helping her keep the rhythm.

The silverware in the drawers and the plates in the cupboard soon start to clatter, and even he can feel the frenzied, insistent vibrations on his skin – it feels amazing, almost otherworldly, and it takes some effort for him not to fall apart right then. His skin glistening with perspiration, urged by her pleasured cries, he quickens his pace and reaches down to rub her clit, urging her to come.

Soon her walls start to flutter, clamping on him, trying to pull him in and push him out at the same time, while her whole body freezes, her back arching and her head falling back, a silent scream etched to her lips. That moment he comes too, pleasure erupting in every cell of his body as he empties himself into her.

It takes a moment or two until the white noise in his mind calms down, and he gets perception of time and place again. He is standing by the table, Skye still wrapped around him, her head resting at the crook of his neck, her soft, sated body slumped against him, their sweaty skin sticking together. Her senses seemingly return to her sooner, because she's already peppering his shoulder with butterfly-like kisses by the time he starts drawing nonsensical patterns on the soft skin of her back under the shirt she still wears.

He could stand like this for an eternity.

Skye moves first; she pulls back a little, just enough that she can press a kiss to his mouth. Still a little breathless, her voice still laden with pleasure, she whispers against his lips, "Good morning, love."