latino_menace | OOM: Finally.

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OOM: Finally.

It has been a long month. A long, boring month of healing and don't touch and being forced to exercise some self-restraint. He's spiked his drinks, taken drugs and painkillers and lately, those pills that Fi got from bar. They seemed to do the trick but left a problem - if his body literally can't respond to desire, how will he know when it's fixed?

He's so bored of waiting. And everything looks practically normal. So after that conversation on the beach and the lazy, intimate day that followed he decided to risk it. If he wakes up hurting, fine, he'll give it a bit longer.

He wakes up...hurting. But not much, not much at all. It's the middle of the night, pitch black because there's no natural light on an island in the middle of the sea, no sound but the waves hitting the beach below them. He's drowsy and hasn't opened his eyes but then, he doesn't have to to know what roused him from sleep.

It aches. But he doesn't know if that's because of the injury or because he's so hard he could hammer nails with his cock. He does know that it doesn't hurt enough to stop him and without even thinking about it, he's turning, sliding a leg between Fiona's and kissing her neck, her jaw, collarbone, chest; small, wet, open-mouthed kisses that are as gentle as they are insistent.

'Fi.'

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He lets out a long breath, his hand tucking into her hair loosely, keeping it away from her face so he doesn't miss a thing. There's not much he loves more than watching himself get sucked off.

'...fuck, you're so good at this.'

She knows just how to drive him crazy. Firm mouth, soft flicking tongue, all his hot spots. Slow and wet and with obvious pleasure - his balls tighten when he thinks about hos much she loves doing this, how wet it gets her.

'I'm going to take your pussy so hard.'

His eyes close and he swallows, concentrating on calm breathing.

'And then I'm going to eat it until you can't move. And then fuck it again.'

His hips are moving, pushing lightly into her mouth, in time with the thrusting he sees in his head.

She feels the tension in him increasing, and she slows down, moaning softly as he speaks. She looks up into his face, her green eyes dark and wide, watching his every breath, meeting those gentle thrust with a tight hand around the base of his cock.

She nuzzles against that hand in her hair, letting him go for a breath to brush a kiss against the inside of his wrist, not letting him go.

It can be serious and fun at the same time, can't it?

Hell yes it can. She gives him a few harder strokes, slow and strong, her hand barely able to close around the girth of him. She rises, trailing kisses along his stomach, diverting enough to catch one of his nipples between her lips and suckling less than gently. Telling him without words she's up to that challenge, and then some.

His breath catches in his throat at the feel of her hand torturing him; lets out a moan at the feel of her mouth. For a second, he grapples with himself about taking her right now but no, he wants to do this right.

'...come on. Clean up. Food.'

It comes out husky, dark with need. But he'll hold himself back and his hands drop away from her because he doesn't trust himself and he wants to make it last.

He pulls away from her and there's a disappointed little moan on her lips. But he's in charge today, and she's happy to let him call the shots.

That said, she stays close to him, breathing his breath, letting the water wash over her. Her hands smooth over her chest, down her hips, delving between her legs. An involuntary shudder goes through her as she touches herself.

He reaches for the shower gel and she stops him, two fingers on the back of his hand. "No soap. Just water." She wants him to taste only her.

He has to reach for the gel, her touching herself makes him groan and his cock is aching properly now.

'OK. If you like.'

He kisses her then, can't stop himself.

That kiss is like touching a spark to gasoline fumes. She meets him, pressing against him from shoulder to knee, her body lithe and slippery wet. Her hands twine around his neck, disappearing into his hair. She's breathing hard, nipping at his lips before taking it deep again, savage and tender in the same breath.

He groans again, in to her mouth, pressing his erection hard against her stomach and backing her to the wall. He's fast losing the will to hold back, though he really does want to; he can't stop his hands roaming all over her, just feeling her skin, keeping her held tight against him.

The air goes out of her as she hits the wall, and the shock of cool tile against her back only makes the heat of his touch all the more intense. Her nails dig into his shoulders, reminding him he wanted to wait even as she's kissing him, devouring his mouth. He's got her pinned, his hands moving down her sides, squeezing her ass, massaging her breasts, and she's arching against him, clearly starving for the attention. The words catch in her throat, setting up an ache in her jaw that radiates through body in waves.

He won't leave. He gave her his word.

The mere thought makes her grip on him tighten.

God, she feels so good. He groans and fits himself between her legs, letting the rigid length of his cock press against her pussy, teasing himself with the heat and the ache and the so close.

But then he pulls back and steps away, keeping a foot or so distance between them, panting for breath and obviously struggling to control himself.

'Got to get out.'

She gasps, whimpers as he pulls away, her hands still on his forearms, eyes wide.

"Yeah, okay?"

She's aching all over now, skin singing with need, wondering if she did something wrong.

'Yeah. Yeah, of course.'

He almost leans in to kiss her as reassurance but stops himself and just gestures at his leaking erection instead.

'Too much, that's all. Lets get out of here.'

She gives him a crooked grin, not quite understanding, but trusting him. She's not sure if he's hurting, or if this is an exercise in self-restraint, one of those delicious games he likes to play from time to time.

"Sure." She shuts off the faucets and reaches for a towel, first for him and then for herself, wrapping herself up tight.

"Come on." She waits for him, making sure to keep her distance.

He dries himself off in under a minute, leaving his hair tousled and messy because he knows they'll be back in here soon enough.

'm'hungry. Feel like making pancakes?'

"Sure," she drawls, moving to find a kimono to slip into, and something to clip her hair up off her neck. She can't keep her eyes from his reflection in the long mirrored doors the whole time.

She brushes passed him, tugging playfully at his towel. "Come on, you get to make the coffee while I make you pancakes."

'No problem.'

Pancakes take longer than coffee. Once he's ground the beans and flicked the machine on, all he has to do is sit and watch her. Which is, it has to be said, the main reason he requested pancakes in the first place. So that he can sit here at the breakfast bar, smoke a cigarette and watch her ass.

She's not unaware of his plan, but truth be told, it's driving her out of her mind. She wants his hands on her, all over her. Wants to make up for a month's worth of lost time.

But she can wait a little longer, if that's what he needs. Her movements in the kitchen are efficient, and pancakes aren't exactly challenging fare. Wide green eyes steal glances at him as she gets whisks the batter, as she brushes the pan with butter, as she sets out the plates and utensils.

"How's the pain?"

'Bearable.'

His eyes are roaming her body, watching it shift under that kimono, noting the swing of her hips and the stretch of her back when she reaches into the overhead cupboards. He just likes torturing himself really, feeling the soft towel rub over the head of his hard cock as he forces himself to wait. She'll probably be able to tell that he's tense with this desire, she knows him well enough. But his face is calm, only his eyes and the way they move giving away what he wants.

She meets his gaze, a small wicked smirk ghosting across her features before she turns back to the hot pan and pours the first batch. One side of her kimono slips down, exposing her shoulder.

"You're gonna give me a complex, I swear," she says, teasing.

'I'm going to give you a damn good fucking,' is his immediate retort, mentally biting down on the smooth skin of that shoulder. The image makes his eyes half-close and he can't help himself, he loosens the towel around his waist so he can rub his palm lightly over the head of his erection.

'But if you'd prefer to just have a complex, I suppose I could hold myself off.'

She bares her teeth at him over her shoulder, just for a moment, still grinning.

"No need to be cruel. You know what I need," she drawls. She turns out the first batch onto a plate and slides them across to him, her expression softening a bit.

He looks down at them and covers himself up again. After a beat or two, his eyes flick up to her.

'Have we got any chocolate sauce?'

Her eyes widen a bit, and she swallows, licks her lips.

"Dunno. Lemme check."

She checks the fridge first, and then the pantry. There's a little noise of triumph as she finds what she's looking for.

"Chocolate cognac sauce do?" She returns with a squeeze bottle, again offering it to him from across the breakfast bar.

'Yeah.'

He takes it from her and eyes it a moment, then flicks his gaze to her.

...then upends it over his pancakes and takes a bite, smirking all the time.

'S'good.

You having some?'

He looks calm as anything, if a bit smug.

Her eyes narrow and she moves back to the stove, shrugging the sleeve of her kimono back into place.

"Of course. Need to keep my strength up."

She pours another batch of pancakes before making them two cups of coffee, taking her damn time doctoring hers. She sets his down just a little to far away for him to reach without getting up.

'Damn right you do,' he murmurs, the smile evident in his voice.

He makes no move towards the coffee. Doesn't do a thing but eat his breakfast until her back's turned again and she's halfway through another batch. And then he gets up silently, bottle of sauce caught lazily in his fingers, walking up behind her.

'Mind you don't burn them,' he says quietly, a finger pulling the kimono back down her shoulder a little. 'I don't like burnt pancakes.'

Just a trickle of sauce. Just a line. But he takes his time licking it up, more excited by the tang of her skin that the stuff itself.

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