thewordofweb | [Night Two]

[Night Two]

I cannot believe he fucking heckled me.

...That's about the only thing that comes to mind as I sit there with the brush and shove it through the long hair, still figuring out how I'm going about this. This, this being whatever attachments have fused and grown firmer in our time here and through yesterday (however you explain that) and this morning (I'm not sure if we can explain that away, given our sobriety) and now I'm standing at the door we share in a strapless red number that cuts down to my ankles and my bare feet press against the wooden floor.

There is a very set plan about this and I might have even stolen some products for the night, pressing pink to lips and smudges to eyes in a simplistic way the likes that Oscar Wilde would have very much approved of (it's really almost as if this place and these events would have fit so perfectly in his novels). So there I am, with a plan, and with a single knock on Joe's door, it's not going to reverse, now.

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The bra falls away when Web bends, which means that Joe only has to shift one hand before he's cupping a warm breast, still grinning up at Web as he lifts his head, looking for a kiss.

"You could at least look a little impressed."

It's like a puppy when it yearns for affection, I think, as I bend to press a kiss to his lips and wiggle out of the remainder of the dress, one hand shoving at fabric until all that's left is a pair of red satin underwear attached to suspenders and stockings, caught in the midst of brushing at Joe's clothed leg. "I am very," I assure, voice low, "very impressed," I inform him, kissing past his neck and sliding lower, unbuckling his trouser buttons and pushing the zipper down as I do.

Now this, this is my party trick.

I slide his pants and underwear down, brushing my hair to the side before I bow my head low and take him deep in a smaller mouth, feeling the pinch already.

He shoulda known Web was going to be good at this. He might've known, if he'd ever given it any thought, but he hadn't and he doesn't now, either. He lets his body do what it wants, which is rock up into the warm wet of Web's mouth, though not too deep, fingers brushing against dark curls.

I have to adjust in order for things to work well and I slide slowly in and out, in and out, and the constant repetition grows soothing for me as I continue this trend and I have to admit that while it's only been six months since I last did this, there's something to be sad for getting to perform good oral on someone you actually like.

And Joe...well.

I press my lips tight around his cock and slide out, letting my tongue coax and curve and press against his head.

Yeah, Web's frighteningly good at this and Joe ain't going to think too hard about whether that's the broad's body or something else entirely. He isn't thinking too much at all as he groans softly and rocks his hips up to Web's mouth again.

The last time he'd had this was England, and, fuck, you don't realise how much you miss some things until you're suddenly getting them again, do ya?

As if to protest that I'm going to keep control of this, my hands suddenly find his hips and push the bare skin back down to the bed with a firm thrust, one hand sliding lower to simply press and push gently at his balls while my mouth and tongue are working in tandem to bring him some kind of pleasure.

He's bigger than I'm used to. Maybe it's the mouth, but I don't think it's all that. I think that Liebgott has got the doctors and the Harvard boys beat, but I won't be telling him that, lest I stroke the ego so hard that it pops.

Joe's ass slams back into the couch and he gets this electric shock that goes straight from his throat to the tip of his dick and he groans, louder this time, letting Web set the pace.

At this rate, it's not going to take long.

"I wanna fuck you," he mumbles, the words all but getting lost on the tail of a moan.

I slide out. Not really. Not fully. I slide out enough so his dick is pocketed slightly against my mouth yet, but I have the function to speak and I mumble a 'not yet' before going back to work, a slight angle change before I pull out and press up at his thighs to get at his balls with my mouth, ready to lavish attention if I need to, here.

He squirmed, one hand fisting in the sheet over his head, one leg crooking to give Web easier access and his breath is coming as panting, his head tipped back as far as it can go.

"Jesus, you're fucking good at this," he gasps.

I part and simply stare at him before leaning down and unclasping the little attachments that are keeping the stockings on. "Not my first time," I admit in a hush, as if Liebgott hearing it will somehow burst his bubble and make him want this much, much less. But before I give him a chance to do that, I take him deep in my mouth again, jaw aching for the lack of room I have to do this.

Joe'd have to be an idiot not to figure that out, and he ain't thinking aout what i means, right now. He just rocks up into Web's mouth, and he don't need muh more of it.

"Fuck, I'm nearly there," he mumbles, because Joey Liebgott was bought up right and, though his Ma might not have anything to do with it, that means he don't come in a girl's mouth without any warning at all.

There's plenty to think about when Joe says something like that and really, the only reason I suck harder and seal tighter is the 'I do not want to make a mess of my boat' thought, especially when the machines are so very far away. So swallow I will, clasping his hips tighter as I let Joe do whatever he wants as he falls over the edge.

It takes another breath, no more than that, before Joe's coming into Web's mouth and he's given up caring if it's right or wrong or queer or any number of things and he's just lost in it.

His fingers tighten in Web's hair and he just gets lost.

I haven't worn makeup for this event, which is for the best because my cheeks flush as pink as rouge could do and my lips are swollen and reddened by the task of sucking him off and every time I swallow, little tears blot my lashes and make them deeper and darker.

By the time I ease away and stare up at Joe (open-mouthed), I hardly know what to expect, anymore.

Web lifts his head and Joe lifts his and there's this moment where they're both staring and nobody's saying anything and then Joe half sits up, reaching to curl his fingers around the back of Web's neck to draw him in for a kiss that tastes of his come and that's obscene but he only makes him want it all more.

We've done more kissing in days than I have the whole of the war and during Harvard, at this rate and I press in snugly against him with my bare torso pressed to his still-clothed one, nudging my hips against his and feeling the wetness between my legs start to grow distracting.

By the time I nip at Joe's lower lip, I'm ready to give him what he wants. "I want you to fuck me. Properly," I mumble against his lips.

Joe laughs breathlessly, kissing him warmly and rocking his hips up against him, but there's nothing doing.

"You're going to have to make do with something else for a few minutes," he says, teasing. "Not all of us are fuckin' twenty three."

I had, in all honesty, forgotten.

So many of us were my age or younger that the older men in Easy slipped by my notice almost effortlessly at this rate. That Joe is thirty only occurs to me now when I stop to think that we won't be doing anything else just yet. "I forgot," I say aloud, sitting up and crossing my legs as I peel off the remnants of the clothes (save for the panties) before yanking him up by the button-down and starting to undo it, one by one.

Sliding my palm up the curve of my shin, I slowly rise and find the papers I've got tucked away, drawing on a little robe in the meantime to settle at the far edge of the bed, back to the wall with a bare knee popping out and I take charcoal pencil to paper and idly start brushing and making notes. It's not so much a portrait as it is little notes and scribbled recollections as I tilt my head to one side and peer at Liebgott past the edge of the page.

Joe lies back, propped up on his elbows with his shirt open but still pretty much decently dressed and tilts his head as he watches Web.

"What're you doing," he asks, stretching out one sneakered foot to brush against Web's shin.

His shoes are on, yet. I set the paper down long enough to reach over and pry off each of them, socks to follow and shoot him a 'you can be a mess' look before setting back to work, biting down on my lower lip as I glance up and watch him in the low candlelight of the room. "Just writing, I suppose. Maybe I won't believe it when I look back on it, so I want to have it penned so I do."

The robe is tight enough so it covers me and I can pick myself up off the bed and reposition closer to Joe so that my hand can check on progress every once in a while, inevitably pushing him down to use his chest as a pillow.

"So I'm furniture now, am I?" says Joe, lying there with his clothes all rumpled, his bare toes curling in the sheets. His breath catches every time Web touches his dick, but he just lies there, his fingers drifting over Web's hair.

"Would you prefer to be called impotent for our delay?" is my drawled and lazy response, turning to press a foot against the wall (the robe falling to reveal most of my bare leg) as I write little shorthand notes about the night on the boat and the dance we shared.

"Ten minutes isn't the same as impotent, asshole," says Joe, swatting out with one hand and connecting with the bare length of Web's thigh.

"You're going the right way for a spanking, Miss."

He uses 'Miss' because he figures it'll piss Web off more than almost anything.

It raises an ire in me that I wasn't fully aware would be there and I lift my head to connect my gaze with him and grab at his hand, firm as I can, fingers tightening at his wrist. "Do not," I warn, "call me that and don't you dare spank me. I will walk out," I say in a very fierce, and sure hush. In fact, crawling over him and settling, all I want is to go back to that odd cast of a moment from before and I settle into a sit in his lap, staring down at him, fingers still twisted up with his.

Joe grins, squeezing Web's fingers and then, slowly, he lefts Web's hand and kisses the base of Web's thumb, sucking lightly on warm skin.

"I thought spanking was all you did at those fancy schools," he teases, but his touch his gentle, free hand smoothing up Web's thigh, his hips lifting just a little.

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