bakerstreet | THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

You didn't--

[It isn't something he's obligated to make up for. He wasn't running around cheating on her, and she doesn't want him to think so. Jeanne frowns.]

You didn't upset me, and you don't have to make it up to me.

[That needs to be established. She was jealous, of course, but just because she was doesn't mean he was in the wrong. Jeanne lets that linger between them, her hand still caught against his mouth, her blue eyes determined. A few seconds pass, and then, her tone lighter:]

But if you really want to turn me on, I can think of a few things.

[Hm. He regards her quietly for a few moments, before his lips curve into a soft, mischievous smile.]

Just a few?

[There's usually a list, all right. But he lets it go at that much teasing for now, nips at the swell of muscle beneath her thumb and raising his eyebrows.]

Go on, then

[She pauses. It's not that she's shy-- god, no, that's never been a problem. But there's a difference between telling Abdul what she wants in private, safe in the warm darkness of one of their bedrooms, and telling him when they're in semi-public.]

I want--

[Mm. She refuses to glance away from him to check to see if they're alone; that would be losing. There's only a moment's hesitation, and then:]

--you to fuck me. Here, like this. Against the wall.

[Oh.]

Oh, [he manages, very quietly; he can feel his whole body tense up, arousal whipping through him like a gale force wind. That's what she wants, and it's not even that surprising, but hearing her say it does things to him he might never recover from.]

[His voice is low and rough next time he speaks, after a breathless pause, his eyes dark and heavy with the desire to crowd her against the wall already. He doesn't look to see if someone else is here. Frankly, he doesn't care.]

Here, like this? Or . . .

[He doesn't shove her. Just turns them, quick but not rough, so it's her back to the wall, him hemming her in, one hand under her thigh and the other pressed to the wall by her side. He's so close to kissing her, but he isn't quite, just staring at her mouth instead.]

More like this?

Yeah.

[She lifts her leg, moving with Abdul's grip, her skirt hiking up indecently high on her thigh. There'd been a reason she'd dressed like this; that hadn't been an impulsive request just now. Jeanne's wanted this for a while. She drags her hands over his chest, against his sides, sliding down to his hips. She'll undress him in a moment, but not just yet.]

Just like this.

[Six, she thinks, and tips her head up, kissing him hungrily. Open-mouthed, her hips rolling forward, her hands under his shirt-- it's not particularly indecent, not compared to all that squirming, and yet she has to bite back a whine.]

[There she is. Which is to say: she's been here the whole time, of course, but this is really the distillation of his Jeanne, demanding and overwhelming and needy. Somehow she always manages to be everywhere at once, to him, her mouth and hands and hips claiming all of his attention and more.]

[She might not make a sound, but he does. He grunts against her lips, tilts his head and meets her halfway and then some, his lips parted, kissing commanding and filthy. His hand slides up her thigh, pushing her skirt up all the way; his fingers drift up the back of her thigh, deliberately too light and teasing, as he traces the hem of her underwear.]

Did you set me up, Jeanne?

[It's barely audible. His voice goes nearly subsonic when he needs her badly, more felt than heard. He meets every roll of her hips with his own, maybe a little rougher than he needs to be, but he doesn't think she'll mind. His other hand slides under her shirt, along her stomach and up her side. He'd bite marks on her if there wasn't such urgency to this.]

Did you plan this, hm?

How could I? You're the one who agreed to do the stupid booth.

[Which isn't actually a no, and she knows he'll realize that. Her back arches, hips working minutely as his fingers graze against her. It's not enough, and she whines openly, giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much she wants this. She won't tease, not today; not when she wants him as so dizzyingly badly.

Opening his trousers, she pushes them low on his hips.]

You think I'm that desperate to have you fuck me in an alley?

[She murmurs the words, voice thick, as she wraps her fingers around him. He's already a little stiff, and Jeanne bites back a moan as she works him. This is the worst part; she hates waiting. She wants him to hoist her up and fuck her now.]

[He doesn't freeze when she starts working his cock. Another day, another time, he might — might need time to recover from the simple fact that she's touching him at all, which always seems a little miraculous. He's past that today, though. It's still miraculous, because Jeanne is always miraculous, but it's also a delicious inevitability. She's touching him; he's going to fuck her, right here and right now, in this alley. Because that's what she wants.]

[So he surges forward instead, digging his fingers into the curve of her ass and smirking against her mouth as he kisses her. He'd take a hell of a lot more working up if it weren't for the fact that she wants this so badly. There's not a lot that turns him on quicker than that.]

I think you're incredibly desperate. But you're saying you're not?

[His fingers dig in tight, bruising, as he lifts her a little. He doesn't have to look, so he busies himself biting at her jaw, bracing her back against the wall with the line of his body. One hand at her hip, the other slips back to her thigh as his fingers creep past the hem of her underwear. He doesn't have anything to prove, but if he did, he'd have it in the bag immediately: she's so wet that his fingers would slide into her right away if he didn't deliberately hold back, two fingers just grazing her entrance.]

Are you sure?

Edited 2016-08-23 00:34 (UTC)

[Are you sure, he says, and just like that she has something to prove. They're both too competitive for their own good, and it gets even worse in times like these. She'd been perfectly content before to let him know how much she wanted him, but not now. Now she twists her hand, listening intently for the catch in his breath. If she's desperate, he'll be as well. Her hips jerk forward, pushing pointedly against his fingers. Almost, and it's so hard not to just beg him for it.]

Don't tease.

[She drops her head back, eyes closing. She doesn't have to control her expression, not right now, and so doesn't bother.]

[Her grip shifts, her hand moving roughly, and his breath catches, enough so that he has to break off the kiss and lean his forehead against hers. She's got that look on her face like she's got to beat him now, and he can never cope with that terribly well.]

[He licks his lips, exhales.]

Mm. All right.

[So, maybe he won't. He leans in to kiss her again at the same time he slides two fingers inside her, quick enough that there's less than a breath between his initial movement and his fingers crooking. His cock jumps a little in her grip, feeling her even at this remove. Even like this, she's something else.]

Christ--

[She hisses that out against his mouth, a shudder running through her. Her hand stutters and stills on his cock. It's cruel, but it isn't meant that way; it's just that she can only focus on so many things, and right now Abdul's fingers overwhelm her. He doesn't have to bother with anything else, really; she's fallen apart from just his fingers too many times.]

Keep--

[A distracted order, given as she spreads her legs a little wider. She starts stroking again, a little more urgency in her movements. He's more than ready to take her, but Jeanne doesn't say that. Desperate, the word rings in her ears, so she'll let him be the one so eager to get to the main event.]

[He's more than ready to take her. And yet here he is, pushed up against her in the dim light, lips patted and panting and knuckles-deep in her.]

You're too beautiful, you know. [His voice comes out like gravel as he cants his hips into her hand.] You're too beautiful, so I'd do anything you told me to.

[This isn't anything she doesn't already know. It's something he has to say anyway, though; he's as compelled to do that as he is to fuck his fingers into her, to circle her clit with his thumb and watch to see what it does to her.]

Tell me what to do, albi.

[She can't say anything for a few seconds, too busy biting back a moan. Unfair, he's so unfair, every inch of him; all he says are a few words and she's more in love than ever.]

Fuck me.

[So she'll lose. She'll be desperate. It doesn't feel like losing, not with him, not when he's working her well enough that her legs are shaking. And if she's going to lose, she might as well do it spectacularly, so:]

Now. It's all I've been thinking about since I sat in your lap, since I saw you'd been kissed by someone else-- you taking me up against this wall, fucking me til I can't think . . . that's what I want.

[God, it's so obviously a victory but only halfway his. He loves her begging, but this isn't begging. This is commanding, her body so tense and desperate that he just wants to make it better. Or worse. Maybe both.]

I already can't think.

[Said with breathlessly dry good humor as he pulls out of her. He doesn't want to, really. He wants to work her until she tightens and comes around his fingers, but, he tells himself, he can probably do that later. Besides which, he promised.]

[It's not much effort at all to lift her up properly. His hands under her thighs, then coaxing her without words to wrap her legs around him. There's no stopping, then; she said now, and as soon as she's secure he meets her eyes and guides himself inside her until he's pressed as tight against her as he can be, his fingers digging helplessly into her hip.]

[It's good. That's not the right word for it, not at all, but it's the simplest, and right now she can only think in simple terms. Spectacular. Fantastic. Precisely what she wants, and Jeanne's head drops back against the wall, mouth dropping open, her gaze never leaving his as he presses into her. Hell. He's going to leave bruises on her hips, but she likes that; she likes anything that claims her to him.]

That's perfect.

[Breathed out. She squirms and tightens around him, teasing as best she can. Her hands rest on his shoulders, the fingers of her left wrapping tight round the back of his neck.]

Now don't stop.

Fuck--

[She shouldn't be allowed to be like this. She's too much, too tight, and he is a lot of things but he's only a mortal man, for god's sake.]

[He's helpless and breathless for a moment, staring at her with his lips parted. And then he's moving like if he doesn't the world might end, kissing her with hunger and undisguised need as he fucks her mercilessly fast. He doesn't think he's ever needed her this badly, but he always thinks that until the next time he does.]

[There's no holding back, not now: moans and whimpers and whines, loud and unashamed, panted into his mouth as they kiss. He's utterly overwhelming, relentless in his movements, sending a shot of lightning through her at each thrust. She doesn't bother touching herself, not like this; just sinks her nails into his shoulders, her hips moving in time with each of his thrusts.

She struggles to keep her eyes open, because he's a sight worth watching. He's always a sight worth seeing, but especially like this, his eyes hot and his expression so intent.]

Please--

[Please nothing, really; she pants the word out just so he can hear her say it. Please, just like that, except she feels like she's going to explode if he keeps this pace up.]

[If someone were to turn the corner and spot them now, it'd be a sight. He's no longer aware of his own movements except that they've got to continue; she moves to meet him every time, and so he moves in turn, and so she does again. They move together, seamless and breathless, and these are the moments, too, when he forgets what the world sounds like without her whimpers echoing in his ears.]

[He wants to touch her more. He wants to touch her everywhere, but he's so caught up in the rhythm and the heat of her and her please. Her nails clawing at his shoulders leave him shuddering and groaning, hiking her up a little further so he can move at a better angle.]

Like that?

[Yes, if the suddenly shout she gives is any indication. Immediately Jeanne shoves a hand over her mouth, muffling herself-- there's being unashamed and then there's being obvious, and she has no intention of being caught.

God, it's hard, though. She's growing louder by the second, and her hand can't muffle everything. True, she can't finish like this, she's never been able to, but that doesn't matter. She loves this part too, and each thrust has her crying out, heat pooling in the center of her stomach. Please, she manages again, the French slipping out from between her fingers, please just like that please, babbling and growing nonsensical.]

Edited 2016-08-23 06:28 (UTC)

[God. She's loud, she's so loud. He should probably encourage her to be quieter, but he can't. She yelps, and he snaps his hips up automatically, trying to draw it out of her again. It's a good sound. He wants a million more like it.]

[He wants more, too. He wants to see her expression shatter entirely. He wants to feel her nails deeper in his shoulders, wants her squirming desperately against him. But he doesn't want this to stop, not when she's so desperate.]

[He doesn't feel careful. But he's as careful as he can be anyway, one hand taking her weight as the other slides between them, fingers splayed against her thigh as his thumb circles her clit. He can't even kiss her now, that's one too many things to coordinate and he's too focused on moving and the heat spiking through him.]

Love you.

[It's too much. It's too much, and she doesn't dare pull her hand away from her mouth, not when every nerve feels white-hot and she's shaking against him. The noises she makes are no less obscene for being muffled: Jeanne drags out her moans, mewling them out as he fucks her. God, and he keeps fucking her so hard, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

It doesn't occur to her to be worried about being dropped, not with him. He's a million things, responsible and clever and careful and loving; he wouldn't hold her like this unless he thought he could do it securely. Her back scrapes against the wall again and again; she's going to look a mess by the time they're through. That's all right. She likes looking a mess for him.]

THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

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i love these icons with their slightly different crops we're doing great

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