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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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.

And suddenly, here we are again, as if the roadmap had just been hiding this inevitability. My breath catches as I'm suddenly caught up in him once more and I stare down and widen my knees' stance around his waist, rocking the once to try and coax friction. "I was never bad enough to deserve a spanking, but I bet you...oh, I bet you could have earned a dozen without even blinking."

Then friction's definitely there, with Joe's pants open and Web's panties pressed against bare skin. Joe rocks his hips slowly, his lips still against Web's skin.

"I got beatings. Ain't quite as sexy."

It's a path that's dangerous to tread down because I doubt we'll stop once we take that first perilous step down. And so instead of talking about our respective childhoods, I focus more on getting Joe out of the button-down and sliding my hands over his skin, prying from his mouth in order to touch the warmth of his body and explore the map that is his chest.

"Ready yet?" I ask, nothing but curious, this time.

Joe sits up enough to shrug out of his shirt, both hands pushing up to Web's waist, rucking the robe up with them. He rocks his hips again, deliberately, dick pressing against Web through barely there satin.

"Yeah," he says breathlessly. "I could go."

"Good," is exhaled and I can't even lie to say that there's actually vague hints of excitement in my words. Maybe it's just that it's been a lot of hours. Maybe it's that regular sex is a novelty I'd like to get used to. Or maybe it's just because I've been vibrating with need since the moment Joe told me that I looked good.

I cede control by crawling off of him and lying on my back on the bed, coaxing him atop with a hand on his hip and I just lie there and wait and watch.

Joe bends his head, and kisses Web slowly, rolling his hips down before he manages to pull away.

He's got a notion that he's going to do it differently this time.

Joe starts by standing up, shrugging out of his jeans and underwear and fumbling in his pocket for a rubber. They come in foil now, much tidier than they used to be and Joe's gotta say, he likes it.

Back on the couch with one knee between Web's thighs, he holds the packet out to him.

"Put it on for me?"

I slide my palm over Joe's and take hold of the condom with one hand and his dick with the other, stroking a couple of times before sliding on the rubber and making sure he's good and covered before I push my splayed fingers over my hips and shed the underwear, now only covered by the short and flimsy robe.

In the meantime, I steal kisses where I may, here and there, always seeking that warm contact that threatens to undo me, kiss by kiss.

Joe's breath catches, as Web rolls the rubber down over him, strokes him, yeah, but just as much as he watches Web slip out of panties, with just a layer of satin between them both being naked. He leans over, loosening the robe and bending his head to press a kiss between Web's undeniably perfect tits.

"Ready?"

I nod carefully and for some reason, this plays a toll on my nerves more than last night did or this morning and I stare at Liebgott and brush my fingers through his hair and he's so close and he's so warm and christ, I can't even handle all the ways this threatens to undo me. "Yes," I assure, "Yes. Yes, I am. Yes."

Very slowly, because, suddenly, he feels the need to go slow, Joe settles between Web's legs, shifting his hips until he's against him and then pushing inside, so slowly that it's torture for him and he's gotta wonder what it feels like for Web.

He presses his face against smooth skin, kissing Web's shoulder, and he doesn't quite move, not yet.

"Okay?"

He doesn't want to hurt him again.

I nod, though it's more of a reflex than an agreement. It hurts less than it did before. It's also too much teasing than I want to really deal with right now and my eyes will themselves shut, but I keep them up to turn and watch the jawline of Joe's face, stroking my fingers against it and following the line of his neck and down his back. "More," I plead, gutturally. "Please," I whine. "Oh god, Joe, please. Push. In me."

There's no way in the world that anybody could so no to that and Joe rocks his hips, pushing deep, sucking lightly at the skin under his mouth as he moved, his mouth hovering over Web's.

"Christ."

I dart up and yank Joe down by the neck for a kiss again, closing my eyes and falling. I fall. There's nothing better to describe the sensation than the way it feels to utterly tumble downwards into Joe's kisses and the feeling of opening my eyes and seeing everything I want right there in front of me.

I hitch my other arm around his neck and hold on tight as I rock my hips up to meet his. "Mmh..mm!" I squeak out against his lips when he pushes deep.

Joe laughs, a soft flutter of sound, fucking Web rhythmically now, slow and firm, pushing deep on every stroke.

"That feel good?" he asks, his weight on his elbows to lift him up just enough to look into Web's face.

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