Non-AU. 453 words.
|He’s never the first to take his clothes off, or allow her to do so.
No, it’s always, typically her pieces that decorate the floor. And if she manages to grab him before he pries her hands away, or if he’s feeling generous, he’ll only let her unbutton his blazer and push it off his broad shoulders.
Tonight is no different than any other. One of the benefits of being with someone so passionate is that they carry it into every aspect of their lives – he does it particularly well when he’s more charged up than usual.
But that could have also been the result of her handiwork in the elevator mere minutes ago.
So she can’t quite bring herself to mind when he pushes her against the nearest wall none too gently, only to gasp into the hot kiss he captures her lips with. The lust radiating from him fuels her own burning desire, and he’s quick to capitalize on her distraction, hoisting her upwards with a swift move.
He’s smart enough to relinquish control to her, and she takes over without hesitation, circling her arms around his neck, and then burying slender fingers into his thick hair. Their kisses are nothing more than rehearsed battles of their tongues by now, but she never fails to enjoy every single one of them.
They signify a victorious possession of a part of him that no one else can experience in their fullest.
When she, very reluctantly, tears her lips away from his, she predictably finds herself stripped of her top layers, and cool air caressing her exposed skin. Even though she knows what comes next, she still shivers when he catches hold of her chin and tilts her head upwards. The stare he locks her into lasts for a few seconds, yet effectively weakens her knees, and that’s his entire purpose, she knows.
Because she sighs longingly as his lips press against her jaw, as she feels his fingertips tracing her back, easily locating and unhooking the clasp of her bra.
Then his mouth is on her neck, and he’s less genteel when his hands suddenly cup her breasts. The movement is abrupt, his firm squeeze elicits a moan of his name, and it’s his turn to shudder. He fondles her for a while longer, and she discovers that she doesn’t mind helplessly squirming against the coarse surface even as every brush burns her delicate skin.
He’s the one who minds first, possibly struck by an epiphany she can’t read. Or it’s likely because he would have more control on the couch, barely hesitating to undo and tug her shorts off. And what follows usually makes her glad she doesn’t undress him first.