bakerstreet | Smut Picture Prompts Meme: Full of Ragrets Edition

"No! No, it wasn't--it's not you--" God, she really doesn't want to get into it. The last thing she wants is to go through that agonizing time again, let alone in front of somebody she wants to kiss. More than kiss. They have all afternoon to themselves, and she wants to enjoy it however they end up using it. Digging all this up isn't going to make things more comfortable. "It's...complicated."

She's huddled herself against the arm of the sofa, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, arms crossed around her stomach. Looking at him, seeing the abashed way he stumbles over an apology, only makes this hard. The last thing she wants is for Luke to blame himself.

You could just explain part of it. He's smart, he can put two and two together. She just has to find a way to say it.

"I really...like you," she starts, then realizes it probably sounds like she's dumping him before they've even really been anything. "And I want to...to be here. With you. I was just--"

Surprised? Scared? Every word she can think of seems too small or too large, too melodramatic, to explain it. Beth sighs, trying to get someplace close enough to the truth that he doesn't have to guess. "It made me think of something else. It wasn't you, I swear."

Luke's found himself settled on the sofa. Not quite out of arm's reach, but giving her some space while they figure this out. He's nervous, more than a little embarrassed, and still kicking himself because he still figures he's done something wrong. He doesn't like that. He's found someone special and then something has to go and turn it into a complicated mess. He already has a complicated mess of a life. Why can't something be simple for once?

He rubs an arm, trying to think of what to say as he listens to her and they both stumble through the awkward moment, "Complicated...?"

Complicated sounds... not great. He's already running through alternatives and possibilities in his head, but then she says that she likes him and that just makes him a bit more confused, emotions seesawing between an emotional high and the emotional low of thinking he did something wrong.

"I really like you, too-" He starts to say (it's a teenage thing to say, too; specific enough to be safe and simultaneously not enough committal to be a threat) and then pauses as she goes on. He blinks and something finally clicks. It's not him. Something happened to her. The world outside is a nasty place. His expression wrestles with itself and then he scoots down the sofa to get a bit closer and he holds his arm open, offering a side to lean against and a shoulder where she can put her head.

"Hey, it's OK. We'll figure it out."

He knows they will, because that's the kind of person Luke is. He sort of wants to ask questions, but that's not his place, is it?

She can see the moment when a light flicks on behind his eyes, and he gets it--and it's like taking a breath after being held underwater. The relief is incredible; he doesn't have to hear the details because they don't have to keep talking about it. Luke understands at least a little.

(Someday, maybe they can talk about it--some other time, when it doesn't feel like this might be the only chance they'll get to say or do anything. Beth wants proof that there'll be other sunny, private afternoons before she wastes one.)

Tentatively, she shifts closer to him, wrapping her arms loosely around him and leaning in to kiss his cheek. Part of her doesn't want comfort, but most of her--well, most of her wants to stay as close to Luke as she can. He's not Gorman, this isn't Grady, and whatever happens next, it's going to be something they both want to do. "Okay."

She's quiet for a while, her cheek at his shoulder, while she tries to decide what, exactly, she wants. To keep kissing him--maybe to do more--and try not to think about anybody else. She's just not sure the sensation of her shirt bunching up around her middle is something she can take. It's such a small, stupid thing that it doesn't seem like it should make a difference. But somehow, it does. "We, um," she starts, then clears her throat and tries again. "We don't have to stop."

Luke lets out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding when she shifts closer and settles against him (and his cheeks burn all over again when she plants a kiss against one of them). He breathes out, breathes in, and tries to settle himself after that rather uncomfortable, awkward moment. He's not going to pry. If she wants to tell him, she will. Everyone has something uncomfortable in their past, especially now, after the world has gone to Hell in a handbasket.

He keeps his arm around her and draws her in close as they simple sit for a long moment, letting the mutual warmth of their bodies soak into one another. The nervous, awkward tension from that moment starts to bleed out, replaced by the earlier tension and excitement that came from talking to her, holding her, feeling her against him. It's a bit subdued, still, because boy, that had been a bit of a buzzkill. But all it really needs is some time.

Luke glances down at her as she starts to speak and he stifles a smile and plants a kiss against her temple, trying to figure out what to do next (where to go). They still have a sunny living room and a sofa and all the time in the world. He plants another kiss a bit lower down, trying to ease back into this.

"OK. Um."

He has to ask this, as awkward as it might possibly be.

"Is there... anything I shouldn't do or you don't want me to do? We could just stick with kissing, because - uh - I mean, I really like kissing you, so that's totally fine. I just - want to be sure I don't make you uncomfortable again."

Beth bites down on her lip, thinking about it. It is awkward, but not for anything he's done--the awkwardness comes from figuring out what's probably going to be a problem. She's genuinely not sure what might stop the afternoon dead again; she spends her time not thinking about this, when she can avoid it.

Maybe this is the only thing that's going to be a problem, touching her side. She wants to believe it will be--the last thing she wants is to freeze up again. And she can't foresee anything else bothering her, except things they're nowhere near.

"Just, um." She scrunches her nose, trying to decide how to put it, watching him from the corner of her eye. "If you don't go up my shirt from--you know, the side." And then, her expression going sheepish, she adds, "If it's in the way, I can take it off. Okay?"

Is saying that too much? It feels like it could be, but it's the truth, isn't it? And she suspects that keeping close to the truth is going to make things easier.

Well, that basically puts it forward in a rather blunt way, doesn't it? Luke's face is on its way to being bright red again and he coughs to try and cover up how awkward that question feels and how he's trying to figure out how to answer it. On the one hand, uh, yes. He would love to get closer to her and touch more of her and do more, but at the same time, is he rushing things? If he says, "yes, please" is that going to be too much? He juggles the possibilities in his mind, as only a young man with limited experience can do.

He squeezes her shoulders as he stumbles over the first few words of his reply, "You don't - I mean, I think - I'd like that, but you don't have to. If it's too fast or uncomfortable, we can just leave it. I don't want to - you know - put too much pressure or anything."

Luke feels a bit mortified.

"I can, uh... take mine off, too. If you want."

Is this moving too fast? Maybe it's moving too fast. He doesn't know.

She grins, a little embarrassed but mostly pleased--and, sorry Luke, a little amused. He couldn't really give her a better answer if he tried; the way he says it, she could get up right now, and she's about as certain as she can be that he'd let her go. But if she stays...he'd like it if she'd stay, she can see that much. It's just about bursting out of his skin, that hesitant desire, blunted only because he wants them both to want it.

And she does. If there's one thing she wants to trust in right now, it's her feelings for him--and right now, she really, really likes Luke.

Her gaze drifts over his chest, considering for a moment, and then she nods--quickly, decidedly. She wants to remember what it's like to want someone touching her body. Getting to put her hands all over his isn't a bad bonus.

With a little breath, she pulls her shirt off over her head, leaving her in the first nice bra she's owned in years: clean, not a sports bra, tiny flowers printed on the fabric. For now, she leaves it on--if they get that far, and it seems like they might, they get that far--and looks expectantly at him. Your turn.

There's a few moments where he's nervous and entirely sure that one of the best people that he's ever met is simply going to reject him, push him away, do anything other than what she does. Which is nod and slip her shirt over her head. For a moment he blinks and he can't help but stare. She's... beautiful, as far as he's concerned. Even with the ravages that life in the aftermath has left on all of them, he still finds her incredibly attractive. He hasn't looked at many bras in his life, but he notices the flowers on this one - and the way that she fills it out. It takes him a second or two for his brain to catch up and he finally glances up to meet her eyes (and feeling sheepish for just staring) and finds the expectant look she's giving him.

He swallows, that nervous, electric energy slowly reasserting itself. The air in the room feels heavy and charged, as every movement might be able to actually give off sparks. He leans back slightly and tugs his shirt over his head and lets it join hers on the floor. There's no real underwear to speak of, but he's fit. Lean and athletic, with a thin dusting of hair covering his belly button and trailing under the waistline of his jeans. There are scars here and there - little bruises and half-healed wounds from his time outside. He settles, gives her a chance to look, and then slides forward, offering her his hand in a tentative invitation.

He's going to let her lead. At least until he's sure that he's not about to do something wrong again.

Anyone could have predicted that under those shirts and jeans, Luke's going to look pretty good. He does every odd job the Alexandrians ask of him, and plenty of those involve hard work outdoors. But God, she didn't expect him to be this handsome. He's strong without being musclebound, he's not too hairy (because ew, too much chest hair), and really, it's just all of him when you get down to it. She's willing to be there's not an inch of him that isn't attractive.

And he was just looking at her like she's more than just skin and bone and sinew (and scrawny skin and bone, at that--she doesn't have any delusions of curviness at this point). Like they've both survived for years just to get to this point. At this moment, watching the light hit Luke's skin, it feels like nearly everything was worth it, if it got them to this point.

(Nearly. But everything that doesn't qualify doesn't need to be dredged up again.)

Beth takes his hand, looking up from his breastbone into his bright blue eyes once more, and leans in for a kiss. A soft one, as tentative as everything else has been since things got weird. But there nonetheless, as there as her hand on his bare chest, right over his heart.

Luke's not sure he'd call her scrawny. Lithe, maybe. Wiry? Slender? Whatever it is, he thinks she's incredibly attractive. If he didn't, he wouldn't be here with her. His breath wouldn't be catching in his throat and maybe he'd be able to take his eyes off of her. She's warm and loving and she makes him laugh and she's smart and right now he wouldn't trade her for the world. The thought doesn't even cross his mind. Instead, he gives her hand a warm, tight squeeze as she leans in and he meets her half way.

He sinks into the kiss with a low sigh, fingers curling as her hand settles against his bare chest. It's been - well. No one's touched him like this in a long, long time. He tries not to think about that, though. Instead, he focuses on the way her lips feel against his and the way he can smell the soap she uses and the faint tang of sweat. His free hand brushes hair back out of her face and then settles on her shoulder as he starts to deepen the kiss, teasing at her lower lip with his teeth in an effort to repay her for earlier.

His heart is beating just her her hand and he shifts his weight, tugging her closer, almost (no almost about it, honestly) urging her to slip into his lap. They're close; he wants to be closer.

His lap is perfect, as it happens--she doesn't need too much encouragement to slide over and straddle his hips. It keeps them close, closer than before, but she's the one on top. There's a sense of control there, a reminder that everything's happening on her say-so. Ideally, she wouldn't need the reassurance, but in the meantime, it's really nice.

As nice as his mouth on hers, nipping at her lower lip until she makes a satisfied little noise in the back of her throat. Some things, he's definitely not clumsy about. She knows this is perfect when she stops thinking about it--sitting with him, being able to get up if she needs to, where his hands are, all of it--and just feels it. His heartbeat under her fingertips, the taste of his mouth on her lips, the warmth of his body where it's pressed against hers, even through a few layers of denim.

Slowly, she settles back into where they were, with languorous kisses that don't lack for intensity. Letting go of his hand, she lets her fingers trail up his arm and wrap lightly around his bicep. Her hips rock up against his once, testing out the sensation (and his reaction).

Feeling her slide into his lap is amazing. He leans back slightly to accept her weight, scooting himself against the back of the sofa for some support. It's a pleasant, warm feeling to have her against him, weight settled against his thighs and hips. I'ts intimate, far more so than him leaning over her. It feels right and he savors it, especially when she makes that little noise at the back of her throat. It sends a shudder through him and causes his fingers to tighten against hers and tocurl against her shoulder, at least until it moves trailing the tips of his nails up and down her upper arm.

Once her hand leaves his, it finds his way to the small of her back and then up her spine and over to settle against her shoulder-blade. He breathes out against her lips with a little, barely-there sound of pleasure - and then something louder, a moan, as her hips rock against his. Even through layers of denim and cloth, he can feel the warmth and heat of her body and the friction she brings still slides agonizingly against his growing arousal. His jeans feel far too tight for this, even if the sensation of grinding is one he tries to hold onto. Pressure and heat just aren't quite enough and he responds with one of his own, rolling his hips up against her, tugging her down as his kiss turns hungrier, tongue seeking entry.

He needs to find an outlet for this energy, but he also doesn't want to move too fast. It's a tough balancing act...

It's a successful little experiment, judging by the way he groans against her mouth, his hips jutting up against hers. And God, it's good. That's the important thing--nothing about it feels gross. She can feel Luke getting hard under her, his fingernails scoring impossibly light over her skin, the warmth of his tongue against hers...and it's okay.

If she wasn't in the middle of kissing him like her life depended on it, she might cry. All of it is okay right now.

Beth leans into his touch, her hands sliding down over his chest. She splays out her fingers in an attempt to take in the feel of as much of his skin as she can. She lingers near his navel, running her thumbs across the fine, pale hairs trailing down toward his jeans.

It's the kind of thing threatening to become a rhythm, the movement of her hips and his. She lets it, humming against his lips when he presses up against her and rocking in toward him after. One hand reaches up behind her, fumbling blindly with the hook and eye of her bra.

Not feeling gross is a good first step. Not that Luke is a mind-reader, but he knows that after that awkward moment a few minutes ago he wants to make sure that Beth is comfortable with all of this. Comfortable with him. So far, she seems to be and he's grateful for that. It still means that he moves with a hint of caution, treading carefully and moving slowly so he doesn't completely wreck her day (and his, to be honest).

There's a little gasp, an intake of breath, as her hands slide down his chest and then her thumbs trail across the skin of his belly. His hips hitch up to meet her touch, a muted little noise of want slipping free of him as he tries to grind up against her again. He feels achingly, wonderfully hard again, a deep, animistic part of him craving nothing more than slick, warm friction and the ecstasy of release. Especially as she rocks against him and her hips come down to meet hers.

Then, suddenly, her hand is gone and he pulls back for a moment, teeth catching her lower lip. He has just enough time to watch her fumbling blindly (he can't offer much help, bras are still kind of strange and alien to him) and then when she manages to get it unhooked his eyes widen. Once of his hands settles on her hips now, holding her flush against him, and the other supports her back between her shoulderblades as he steals one more quick kiss.

"Is it OK if I... uh... kiss your chest? You're - I mean - you look really good right now," His voice is a bit hoarse from arousal and his pupils are dilated, but he's trying to hold himself in check. He's also trying to find language that won't just sound crass. Even if he really wants to describe how arousing and enticing it is to see her with a flushed face, mussed hair, and half-naked in his lap. Oops.

Beth shrugs the bra off and lets it land with the rest of their clothes on the floor. The first thing she does once it's gone is reach out for Luke again, one hand settling back at his waist. The second thing...she looks at him. And kisses back when he pulls her close, snaking an arm loosely around his neck.

Her nerves just about light up everywhere their skin touches. No matter what they end up doing, she's decided in the back of her mind that afterward, they're lying around in each other's arms as long as they can justify it. (Or as long as Luke's willing to put up with it, but she suspects he's not the kind of guy who hates cuddling.) But first, it's pretty obvious that they could both really stand to get off.

And all of it is better for the fact that Luke speaks before his attention shifts down from her mouth. Part of her feels stupid, needing him to ask--it's not a consideration she'd ever pictured in her life--but she's grateful that he does. (And moreover, that he does without her asking him to. Luke is really nice, that's what she's getting from this.) And coming from someone who's stupidly handsome, his hair ruffled out of its usual smoothness, it's almost kind of hot.

"Yeah." She reaches for the hand on her back, so she can draw it forward and settle his palm on her breast. It's the clearest permission she can offer--touch and taste. And then, joking, "If I can kiss yours."

Beth is warm and Luke savors the feeling of it where ever their bare skin touchs. She's light and yes, a part of him just wants to curl up with her and completely forget about the rest of the world for as long as they can. Until it's dark or the stars come out or even for an entire day or night. Just sitting and holding one another and whispering dreams and worries and fears and hopes. That will probably come later, though. Right now his nerves feel as if they're charged with electricity, every touch sending sparks sizzling down his spine and twisting through his limbs. His feet shift against the floor and he leans a bit further back, urging her closer with the hand on her hip as she draws his hand from behind her.

His throat works in a nervous swallow as she settles it against her breast and he gives it a gentle squeeze, cupping it in his palm and sliding his fingers over her skin there. His thumb catches against one of her nipples and he blows out a low breath, eyes staring up at her with unrestrained arousal and affection. God, this is all he's wanted. If he died now, he'd die happy (no, not really, but that's the sentiment). He laughs shakily and shoots her a grin, "You have a deal."

He understands the permission he's giving her and Luke makes a silent promise to not abuse that. Still, it's hard to restrain himself. Especially when she's inviting him like this. He leans up and forward, trailing a few little kisses against her throats, teeth catching against skin as he skims her collar-bone. He's going to be leaving a hickey there, so she'll probably want to avoid wearing anything with a plunging neckline for a little bit, unless she wants to answer akward questions.

The hand on her hip tightens as his mouth moves lower, teeth and lips sliding over skin (she tastes of salt), dipping into the valley between her breasts and then against the swell of the one that isn't covered by his hand, until he can play his tongue against nub of her nipple, toying and teasing at it until it hardens, flesh pebbling.

"You're beautiful, you know," he mumbles against her skin, a humming vibration that runs out of him and into her. He's still working against her, hips shifting still in a slow, steady, easy little roll and grind. It's almost needy, but he's not quite demanding attention yet. He's letting his own arousal build, working himself a bit tighter, going a bit further as he slides himself against the heat he can feel, even through layers of denim and cotton.

Her breath comes out shaky the first time he touches her there. It's another small step toward something larger than either of them--she can see it in his gaze, somehow. They both need to do this. For different reasons, but they both need it. (And for the same one, underneath whatever other bullshit they brought inside with them. In times as dangerous as these, Beth's pretty sure because we both want to is a good enough excuse.) She smiles at him, shy only insofar as God, all his attention's on her at that moment, and that's kind of insane.

But in a good way.

And it's better when his gaze drops and he leans in toward her. She tips her head to the side, back a little, letting him kiss her wherever he likes. Down her throat, and nipping further down until the breaths she takes are turning shallow. Beth slides the fingertips of one hand through his hair, letting her nails drag lightly over his skin.

He reaches her breast then, and more specifically her nipple, and a moan's pulled from her instinctively. That's the moment this gets really serious in her mind--not the "I need to tell you about this thing that happened" serious, "we're really doing this, it's happening, and it's really good" serious. Her fingers clench tight against his scalp, urging him closer as he tongues her into a sharp little peak. Her hips bear down against his, the rhythm shifting to something harder and then receding again when he really gets it.

"So're you," she tells him in a little whisper, dipping her head so she can kiss the top of his and draw in the smell of his hair (shampoo and sweat and--well, hair). Every time he breathes against her skin, it's this shivery feeling, fine as lace, over her chest and down through her belly. With her free hand, she catches hold of the waistband of his jeans, fingers curling just inside--half teasing, half steadying herself.

There's a wordless murmur from him against her breast when she bears down on him and for a moment, there's an intense, agonizingly delicious grind right against the hardness of his cock. A wonderful friction as she puts her weight against him and then she eases up and he's left with a slow, soft moan against her skin. At the same instant, the hand against her breast tightens and he traps her other nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it lightly between the two digits. His moan stutters and then comes out in an oath, "F-fuck..."

His nails draw little white lines down the skin of her breast and his teeth drag again. Just enough to catch, not enough to hurt. Because sweet Jesus, her fingers are dangerously close and it's almost torture to feel her hand just there, just within touch and yet staying out of reach. The head of his cock is straining against the denim of his jeans, tenting it outward, just a scant few inches from where her fingers are curling into his waistband. He draws back a moment, kisses her skin, breath fluttering in his and catching in his chest. He's on the edge of something and, much like her, he's realizing that they're pressing on, that they're really doing this.

Whatever "this" is.

He drops his hand from her breast, covering it with his mouth, shifting his attention and trying to draw another of those little moans that he delights in hearing. In the meantime, he's retaliating fro the teasing fingers along his waistline, tracing his own down her belly, fingers splayed out to cover her navel and then tracing the waistline of her jeans, so that they're both playing that teasing, toying little game. He swallows, throat thick with something he can't quite identify, and then he tits his head up, resting it on her shoulder as he kisses her neck again and then her jawline.

Luke has something he wants to say and it finally stutters out when he stops thinking too hard, "I - I really... want you, Beth. Care about you. But I mean right now - I want you bad."

He's blushing again. He doesn't know why.

"Yeah," she agrees, laughing breathlessly at the way he says it. Fuck doesn't quite sound natural in his mouth--not like he swears a lot, anyway--but it's cute. And the feeling's mutual. Every time he touches her breasts, fingers or tongue, the feeling moves straight down her body in a neon-bright wave, bypassing everything in her on the way to her clit.

There's nothing else to say, and frankly, she's not sure she could speak around the fluttery sensation of his hands and mouth on her and his erection under her. She uncurls her fingers under his jeans, the backs of them brushing down against his length. It's teasing, and she knows it, but the idea of rummaging around in his pants for him seems kind of crass to her--and she still wants to touch him. They really need to get those jeans off, for both their sakes.

Her other hand, she drags down from his hair--she's pretty sure with the way he's got her in his mouth, she's going to be in danger of ripping some of his hair out otherwise, God--raking her nails over his neck on the way down. She ends up near his heart again, this time with her thumb working lightly at his own small nipple.

It's a strange mix of comfortable and unbearable, her shallow breath punctuated by little groans when everything aligns in just the right way. Everything's good, but she wants so much more.

"I--yeah. Me, too." The words come out a little awkward, thick with longing and sheepish for it. She's pretty sure they're at the same place right now, wanting to drag off the rest of their clothes and loath to move from where they're already pressed up against each other.

But it'll be worth it. When her thoughts drift just a little further--to the thought of feeling him inside her, of really riding him--it's simultaneously arousing and disquieting. A little because of Gorman, if she's honest, though she's not letting him sneak back into her thoughts right now if she can help it. Mostly because she knows what happens if you aren't careful, and motherless baby Judith is proof that having a baby after the end of the world is dangerous stuff. She wants him as close as she can have him, but she doesn't want that.

She presses her lips together, trying to figure out how to say it without sounding like she wants to stop. (At this point, stopping sounds nearly like dying.) The best she can think of is that shy little smile, her knuckles pressing in lightly against his hipbone. "I could blow you. Since we don't have a condom."

Beth earns another pleading, muted whine of arousal and barely contained need when her fingers brush against his erection again and it causes his hips to buck up against her hand and against her own hips as his body tries to find ways of continuing the wonderful, agonizing pleasure of that contact. It's too fleeting for him to really enjoy it, but just long enough for him to want more. Getting jeans off at some point in the very near future sounds like a great idea. They just need to stop making out long enough to do that, which doesn't seem super likely to happen (or at least it's going to take some willpower).

His nipple pebbles under the attention, stiffening against her fingers as he takes a slow, deep breath against the skin of her neck. He's trying to catch his breath, trying to slow everything down for a beat or two so he can figure out what they're doing and where they're going, but God, is it hard when she admits that she wants him as badly as he wants her, especially in that throaty tone that someone gets when they're incredibly turned on. He bites at his lip, trying to find that perfect spot that makes them both tense when they grind into one another, but there are words happening and thoughts racing through his head (what it would feel like if she simply slid herself onto him, the idea of a slow, easy roll of their hips together, over and over with his cock buried in her) and it's more than a little distracting.

The fingers on her belly slip a little lower, curling against the waist of her jeans, giving it a little tug and pull now as she slides his fingers underneath, burshing the waistband of her panties just beneath. He can feel the heat of her arousal, just out of reach, and this is almost as much a tease for him as it is for her. There's another kiss to her throat, another to the curve of her shoulder, one more against the upper swell of her breasts and then she makes her little proposal and it jolts him - there's something stupidly hot about her asking that, something that shoots up his spine and then back down and settles into his gut.

Luke swallows and pulls himself more or less upright, pressing his forehead against hers as he takes stock and tries to figure out where they're going from here. Easy, Luke. Breath.

"I - yeah. Yeah, that sounds - I'd like that. And - uh - I could - would like to do the same thing for you. If you'll let me, anyway," He replies in his own nervous but still stupidly self-assured way. No condoms. Not like anyone is still making them, but in theory there should be millions scattered outside. No one really makes a habit of picking them up and the ones that are left are probably still good for a little while longer. Right? Right. He makes a mental note to try and get some next time he goes out. But that can come later.

His fingers toy with the button of her jeans.

"I think we both need to get out of these."

And if she answers in the affirmative, he's going to make himself busy getting her out of them (and her underwear).

Beth swallows hard when his fingers slip under her jeans, brushing against her skin and--both tantalizing and frustrating--her panties. Her first inclination is to take him by the wrist and urge him down further, but on the other hand...no pants. It'd be so much better without her jeans in the way, probably a better angle for his wrist, too.

Her hands still when he straightens back up again, their heads together and noses nearly brushing. They could both use a moment to breathe by now, though every breath she manages feels unsteady. The way he answers her doesn't help, either--for all he stumbles over the words, what he's offering is as clear and potent as the touch of his lips on her breast.

"Okay." It really means something more like if you think I'm going to tell you not to go down on me, you're insane, but she doesn't have the cockiness to pull a line like that off. Some other time, they'll work their way up to really doing it--there might be something in the infirmary, or in her sister's room, if it comes down to that--but for the afternoon, she'll happily take what he's offering. Beth tilts her head, pressing a quick kiss to Luke's mouth, and smiles.

And then she glances down at his hands and adds, "I think maybe I should."

It shouldn't be weird if he does--she wants to believe it wouldn't be--but she hadn't thought having his hand up her shirt would be, either. And if she screws this up now, after they've already gotten this far, she's pretty sure she'll die of embarrassment and frustration. Sliding reluctantly off of him, she starts unfastening her jeans. They come off with her panties, a large patch damp from his attentions, in a single fluid motion. Besides the bracelets on her left wrist, she's naked, turning back to Luke as soon as the denim hits the floor.

As soon as she says that she should handle it, he backs off to let her deal with her own clothing. There's a certain reluctance to pull away from her, but it's tragically necessary for logistical reasons. He scoots back and watches her for a long moment, a low sigh slipping from his throat as he watches the jeans slide down her legs. The length of her legs and the bare skin drives his arousal up another notch and he has to bite back the urge to reach out and run his hand over the curve her hip and bare ass.

Instead, he works on his own jeans. He climbs to his feet and shucks his own means and the underwear underneath, adding it to the scattered pile of clothing on the floor. He takes in a low, nervous breath and takes a step forward - when she turns around, he's just as naked. He doesn't cover himself, but there's a bit of temptation from him on that score, one that he has to resist. His erect cock is dark and flushed with blood and sways against his belly.

Luke extends a hand and offers to pull her into an embrace, planting a kiss against her lips as he draws her close. The feel of bare skin on bare skin is altogether intoxicating and makes his toes curl against the carpet. Not to mention the way his arousal jumps as it slides against her bare belly.

She can feel his gaze on her--sees it, from the corner of her eye--and feels her skin heating all over again. Knowing he's watching and more, that he likes what he sees, makes every shift of her body feel like a show. It's being on display, but purposely, and it makes her ache with wanting.

Then again, so does the sight of Luke, standing before her without a stitch of clothing. Beth smiles before anything else, her gaze drifting up from his dick--she looks there first, who wouldn't?--to his soft eyes. He looks a little nervous to her, but maybe she's only seeing what she herself feels: that first, breathless moment when all of you is laid out for someone else to see and, hopefully, to appreciate. It's why he ought to see that she does, she thinks, and reaches for his hand.

She stands, one hand settling at the small of his back as she moves in close. And as sweet as the kiss is--that's just Luke, she's starting to think, capable of gentleness even when he's brimming with confidence and lust and everything else--there's a new tension underlying it. It's the same weird double sense she gets from holding him close right now: the reassurance of bare skin coupled with a near-unbearable lust for everything they can possibly have of each other.

"Next time, I'm bringing a condom," she mumbles against his skin, her mouth moving down to his jaw. Beth kisses up along it, eyes closing at the agonizing pleasure of her body sliding against his when she stretches up on tiptoe to reach his ear. (Strictly necessary? Not exactly. Worth it for the chance to feel his cock twitching against her? Obviously.) "It's my turn to kiss you, if you want to lay down."

Luke definitely doesn't object to the way Beth slides against him. Everywhere they touch seems to be heated and the friction against the shaft of his cock sends another shiver through him. The head of his shaft is wet with his arousal and it leaves a slick trail in its wake, smeared against his belly and Beth's skin. His free hand trails over her side and he resists the urge to trail his fingers over her breasts. As tempting as it is, she wants to pay him some attention and he's not about to argue with her (or delay it).

"A condom would be a great idea," he replies with a low laugh before giving her a quick kiss on her lips and then her throat. He pulls away at her urging, a bit reluctant to leave the warmth and easy pleasure of having her pressed against him. He gives her hand one more pleasant squeeze and then he settles back onto the couch. He props himself on his elbows, peering up at her with a warm (almost shy) smile, hair tousled. He thinks she looks incredible like this, naked and flushed.

"I feel like I'm showing off or something," he admits, "But I don't think you mind that much."

"Next time," she promises again, giving him a little smile, because there's going to be one, if she can help it. When he draws away, she halfway regrets it, right up until he makes himself comfortable on the couch and she can look him over again. The curve of his mouth, his strong shoulders, the slick little streak of pre-come on his abs--and his dick, looking almost painfully hard where it waits for her attention to fall on it. Unconsciously, one of her hands has settled on her own stomach, touching the fluid he left behind on her skin. That smile of hers grows, her gaze drifting back up until she's looking him straight in the eye when she tells him, "This is perfect."

You're perfect. Patient and kind and really, really hot when it comes down to it. Beth carefully kneels down on the couch, straddling him, the heat of her own arousal feeling like it's radiating toward his skin. Dipping her head low, she kisses him, but she's too impatient to linger at his mouth for long.

Instead, she starts moving down his body as she promised, letting her mouth land hot over his chest, a nipple, his stomach. Her patience was mostly used up when he was busy nibbling at her breasts and teasing her with the promise of his hard-on; as much as she'd like to linger over his body another time, right now she's drawing a wet trail of kisses very purposely down to one point. Once she gets there--nestled between his legs, her cheek brushing against his shaft once as she turns her attention away from his hip--she smiles again, finding his gaze, and draws the tip of her tongue along the length of him.

Smut Picture Prompts Meme: Full of Ragrets Edition

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This thread gives me life

you and me both, friend

Awkward teenagers <3

uh, excuse you, they are obviously Very Mature Adults lmao

Re: uh, excuse you, they are obviously Very Mature Adults lmao

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Phone tag! Sorry if it's a bit short.

no problem! i don't mind short. <3

Phone tags just take foreveeer.

ugh, i feel you there.

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