latino_menace | OOM: Christmas

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OOM: Christmas

It had taken three attempts to get Bar to open the door to where he wanted to go. Three times he looked out on a truly scummy bar filled with sweaty, running men and the sounds of choppers bearing down in the distance; Hell on the edge of a jungle.

Not where he wants to be right now.

On the fourth attempt - it's warm. Not hot, but pleasantly mild and the view is of a comfortably lived-in sitting room, with child's toys in a corner and overstuffed sofas and armchairs dotted around. The first thing his eyes rest upon is a glass still half full of Scotch; the second a stone block on the table, a sculpture with a woman's face looking out of one side. He pauses for a moment (so long since all that), then wanders in and puts his bag down, goes to the French windows to look over the garden that ends in beach and then, nothing but sea. Three thousand miles of sea standing between him and home.

But it's alright. It's nice to see the place again. He'd had mixed feelings the night before, wondering if it would be unpleasantly strange to have Fiona here. But it's not. He wants her to see it. For some reason, letting her see the places he lives is like letting her see himself. It's not even about showing off, this time. The house is not small but still modest by his standards. And it was a real home, for a while. Maybe he wants her to know that he can live normally, sometimes.

'Want a tour or do you want to head straight off? I just need to make a couple of calls before we go.'

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"What if I want to thank you?" she murmurs against his lips, giving him a lingering, tender kiss.

"What if -- what if I want to -- show you my gratitude?"

She kisses down his chest, her hands trailing over his skin, slowly sinking to her knees.

'Oh, well...in that case...'

He leans forward to kiss her again but she's gone; he watches that small, sweet mouth play down his chest instead.

'...it'd be rude to stop you.'

His hand runs into her hair and the other starts pulling at his belt.

She loves this, loves the taste of his skin, loves how hard he gets and the sounds that he makes. She grins up at him, smacking his hands away so she can undo his belt.

She closes her eyes, sighing softly as she presses her face against the hollow of his hip, her hands working him free of his trousers.

He lets out a long, soft breath, almost a sigh, and drops his free hand loosely to his side. There are few things he enjoys more than watching this.

'Gonna suck it for me, Fi? Gonna get it real hard so I can take you with it?'

God, he wants to have her. Been wanting it since Portugal.

She laughs, shakes her head, grinning against his skin. Her hands smooth over his shaft, down to his bollocks, gently fondling. Her laughter feathers over the crown and her tongue darts out to taste him.

"I dunno, I thought maybe I'd paint your toenails, while I was down here."

'Funny.'

He reaches over to turn the taps off and sits down on the edge, never taking his eyes off her.

His body feels tense from sitting behind a wheel all day. He wants her to make him desperate, burn that tension off by making him work for his climax, he wants that feeling when it all lifts away afterwards.

She blinks up at him, sloe eyed, hungry, waiting for him to settle before she goes back to teasing him.

"Gonna turn you inside out," she whispers, fingers wrapping around the base of him. Her lips trail along his length, and her tongue flickers against that one spot, light as a feather.

He'd answer but she does that with her tongue and it's easier just to shut his eyes and enjoy it.

'Always do.

...do that again.'

She smiles as his eyes close.

"What, this?"

She does it again, this time a little slower, a little harder. Her hand keeps a gentle counterpoint, and she can't help the soft sigh in the back of her throat.

He groans, quiet enough to be almost inaudible but the tightening of his hand in her hair will probably give a good indication of how that felt.

'Yeah. That.'

The sigh becomes a moan and her grip tightens as well. She takes him in, sucking him hard for a few strokes and then returning to that languid, torturous pace. Her tongue moves around and over that sweet spot, slowly twisting that sensation higher, notch by notch.

And he can feel a barely controlled urgency in her touch, that fire he brings out in her. If he knows anything about her by now, he knows when she's going to wring him dry.

He's gripping the edge of the tiles now, just as tight when she slows down as when she's sucking hard. This moan isn't quiet and he tenses under her touch, relaxing only a little when she eases the pressure.

'Going to make me come? Or do you want to feel it in you?'

He can't make up his mind which he wants more.

She moans, laughs as best she can, low and hungry. But she doesn't let him go, no, not for a moment. She slows her pace, drawing it out for him, knowing exactly how much is almost enough.

Tongue and fingers, lips and mouth, lost in the scent and feel of him, savouring every hitch in his breath, every groan. She looks up at him, eyes dark and intent.

He holds her gaze, locked by it and the unrelenting pressure of that beautiful mouth. Slow it almost worse, the anticipation of every stroke twisting his arousal higher every time.

'Jesus Fi...gonna come...'

She holds tight, leaning her weight across his thighs, and finishes him off with the same delicate flickering of her tongue on that sweet spot, pushing him up and over and giving him no choice in the matter.

He'd been so sure that she'd stop. The way she doesn't takes him completely by surprise and the choked cry that's torn from his throat is as unexpected as the orgasm that roars through him, making him lose it completely as he spills over that wicked tongue.

She closes her eyes, feeling him shake and grip her hair. She holds him between tongue and soft palate, laving gently as he gentles back to earth, humming her own contentment at a job well done.

When she pulls back finally, she snags a tissue from the side board and wipes her mouth before returning to him.

"Better?"

He doesn't answer for another few long moment, breathing deep and running his hands down her body.

'Everything's better after one of those.'

He grins and kisses her, visibly more relaxed. The afterglow is melting through him, leaving him languid and happy.

"Good."

She wraps her arms around him, breathing in that contentment, letting it fill her senses and wash away her own tensions, her own worries. Living in the moment.

His arms hang loosely around her and he drops his head to kiss her neck softly.

'Jacuzzi?'

"Mmmyeah," she purrs, grinning against his ear. "Grab the champagne, oh nevermind it's right here." She grabs the bottle and takes a swig, her eyes smiling at him.

She slips from his embrace and steps down into the huge tub with a long appreciative sigh, her hand never leaving is skin.

He grins and drops his shirt off his shoulders, kick his jeans off and slides in after her. Without a second's hesitation, he insinuates himself between her legs, pressing his half hard cock against her and kissing her deeply.

Then champagne. But he doesn't move away even an inch.

She winds her legs around him, returning that kiss with a low contented purr. When he breaks away to drink, she runs her hands over his chest, wetting his skin, kissing whatever she can reach.

Her nails draw lines over his ribs. "Sit back," she says, her tone edged with need. "I want to ride you."

He groans quietly, loving those nails on his sides. He could get touched like that all day. And he does what she says, sitting back opposite her, draping his arms over the edges of the jacuzzi.

'It's all yours.'

So true. She can ride him until she can't take any more, he's just fine with that.

She moves into his lap again, straddling his hips. Her hands twine around his neck, fingers running up into his hair. She nuzzles under his jaw, nibbling up to kiss his lips, humming softly.

She sinks into that kiss, closing her eyes, not in any rush at all.

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