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She'd been teasing him for months. Or at least he thought so.
Right now she was laying on top of him; the morning sun was starting to beam through the tatters of the old curtain above their bed, and every time she moved it he could feel his cock throb painfully against her. He couldn't tell if she didn't notice —she had to notice— or if she was just being polite.
Or, if she knew exactly what she was doing, and was secretly getting off on teasing him.
Given the evidence, the latter was the most likely conclusion, but he still wasn't certain. All his decency, worry about making an unprecedented advance, and respect for their friendship kept him from letting himself believe that she was doing this on purpose. But God, his dick was pressed right into the hollow next to get hip bone, and every so often —so, so often— she would push herself up, just slightly, creating this tantalizing friction that he almost couldn't help but rock up against. But the way that she did it seemed so candid, her movements punctuated with a tired sigh or half-lidded eyes.
Groaning, she told him, "It's so fucked up that you're making me get out of bed." —He wasn't— As she said it, she pulled herself up, arms around his shoulders, dragging herself so slightly against this groin once again, then continued, "You should just go do both of our jobs today, and I'll stay here and take a nap."
He couldn't help it. His mouth hung open. But she wouldn't be able to see from where her face was pressed against his collar. His hands felt hot and clammy against her. He was pressing them against the center of her back, where he was careful to maintain a firm, but gentle pressure. He felt the wild compulsion to dig his fingers in every time she twitched around on top of him, but he controlled himself.
If he let himself place them any lower, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from groping her. Of grabbing her ass and using the leverage to grind himself up into her. His cock throbbed. She had to feel it. He was sure that at this point he was starting to leak a little wet patch of precum into the fabric of his underwear. Again, she nuzzled into his neck, another place where he was far too sensitive, and adjusted her torso.
He would probably come in his pants if she kept going on like this. He felt a bit of shame at the thought, but not nearly enough to calm the ache in his dick. It had been far too long since someone had touched him like this, and he certainly hadn't been this excited by someone since his late wife had passed. He too often felt overwhelmed by the guilt of his loss to let himself feel something as selfish as the desire that was now burning through him.
He hadn't realized, that on that last pass of her hips over his, that he'd had let out a straggled breath directly into her ear. And that, in response, she'd began to press into him more purposely. Dragged out of his thoughts by the firm contact at the center of their bodies. He struggled for something to say. He normally was quicker than a bullet to diffuse this sort of tension with a humorous redirection. But now, with his failing composition, he worried that anything he said would come out breathless and carrying the obvious strain of his arousal.
So instead, he held his hands firmly against the small of her back and hoped to ride out the interaction. Eventually, they would have to roll out of bed to start their day, regardless of how much she expressed her disinterest in doing so.
Unfortunately for him, her sedated, but restless motions were only stirred on by his lack of response. Lost in the daze of friction, Deacon didn't have the coherence to realize how obvious it was that he was enjoying this, and how much she'd picked up on it.
She continued to groan in mock frustration against him, hips rolling irregularly up and down as she feigned weak attempts to pull herself from bed. His breath was catching and straining so hot against her skin, it only stirred on her arousal, and she couldn't help but let out a heavy breath as she finally felt the (unintentional) twitch of his hips against her.
The rush of blood at hearing her soft moan, freed him from from the restraints of his conscience and, at last, he pulled his hands down hard against her lower back. The action broke her act of naivety and, for the first time, she ground purposefully against him.
Her hands wildly grasped at his white shirt as he probed her comfort zone, letting himself slowly thrust a few times against her. In response, she'd only pressed herself more tightly against him, and he could be feel the quickening of her breath. It was all the consent he needed to give in to his primal desires, reaching down to squeeze her roughly and pulling her repeatedly against him.
His hands now freely groping her without restraint, she let out the quietest moan into his ear, "Deacon." For a moment, he was brought back into the reality of their relationship. She was his friend. She was the only person who he had truly opened himself to since the brutality of his actions and the pain of his loss so many years ago caused him to close himself off from any human connection. He felt a sudden pang of fear. This was the most out of control he'd felt in all their time together. What was he risking with his actions?
Despite how obvious it seemed that she was enjoying his ministrations, he had to stop himself for a moment and make sure that he was given a formal invitation of consent. He couldn't risk hurting her, of causing any breach in the emotional intimacy of their relationship.
As he stilled himself against her, she let out a loud groan that was punctuated with heavy arousal, and one final thrust that clearly marked her intentions. But he still had to sate his desire for verbal clarity on the situation, "Hey." He moved his hand up to caress her hair in gesture of familiar reassurance, that she nodded up silently into. "Am I, uh, making you uncomfortable... at all?" He continued, his voice much softer and closer to genuine than his usual sarcastic tone. She tilted her head up to him and twitched slightly, before shaking her head in a silent response to his question.
He continued to brush through her hair and asked, his voice markedly more husky than before, "Is it okay if we keep going?"
Her response was the soft warmth of her lips pressing into his. He groaned heavily into the heat of her mouth as her hands found the sensitive skin of his throat. She traced his jaw and he let out a shudder. All his years of isolation and emotional stonewalling had lead him to become far too receptive to the warmth of her touch. She might as well brush his elbow and get the same response. But the sense of immaturity and embarrassment that had momentarily stunned him before, was pushed away now by the tenderness of her affections.
She briefly separated from him to move lower, settling on his chest and pressing soft kisses onto the sides of his throat. It caused a sudden and devastating loss of composition as he practically yelled in pleasure. Again, it was too much. He pushed her off gently and turned them over.
Switching their positions and taking control of the pace, he kissed her heavily, ceasing the motion between their bodies until they were both breathless.
But, eager as she always was with her affections, his control didn't last very long. She reached between them, two fingers pressing under the band of his pants while she thumbed the button. He enthusiastically responded to the gesture and worked open the fly; her soft hand immediately sliding in to replace the rough friction of his jeans. The sensation was heavenly, and he groaned into her mouth.
Suddenly, both frantic in their movement, his free hand roughly caressing her neck and hers working in the tight space between the two of them, he had to stop her again. He was getting overwhelmed and, with every movement of her wrist, he threatened to spill over.
With the hand he'd been pressing over her throat, he now moved to grasp her wrist, calming her fervor once again. With his forehead against her cheek, he groaned in frustration. Understanding, she moved to pull up his shirt, her warm hands sliding the fabric over his back. He sat up and helped her pull it over his head. Always restless and eager to keep her hands on him, she moved to stroke him again. But he stopped her short, standing up quickly to remove his pants the rest of the way.
She watched him as he did, and he couldn't help but smile at the dazed look she wore on her face. His eyes followed hers as she looked down at his barely held modesty and, for a moment, he was abashed, his cheeks and pale chest glowing red. To deflect her too acute attention, he moved back over her, and yanked her down from her sitting position; pulling her by the hips, so she was under him once again. Mouth pressed over hers attentativly, he moved his hands over her hips and tugged down her waistband, baring her lower half to him.
He began working his fingers into her; the drawn out ache between his legs inspiring him to work quickly. She must have been aching for him too, because her panties had been soaked through and all he could focus on was the slickness he felt as he pushed his digits into her. At the first curl of his fingers, she practically jumped out of the bed.
It was hard to keep his rhythm as she writhed around beneath him, bucking her hips up wildly every time he stroked against her front wall. He felt a sting of abashment once again, as he thought of the now visible wet patch growing on the front of his own underwear, but he was too focused on the needy whimpers his motions were pulling out of her to bother grasping the feeling as it flew by him.
He had only just started when she reached her peak, spasming around his fingers. It made him feel the most perverted satisfaction, knowing how easy it had been, of how much she must have wanted him. She panted out a string of soft, stifled moans, as she rode through her climax. Once her hips finally stilled, he could still feel the twitching of the muscles in her thighs. He kept his hand motionless, but firmly pressed against the spot he'd been stroking, giving her a moment to catch her breath.
The whole time she'd had an overwhelmed and far off look on her face, but now was looking directly into his eyes, her mouth hanging open. She reached out and touched his face, as he moved up to kiss her again, heavy and urgent against each others lips. His hand made it's way up the front of her shirt and he kneaded her roughly, before removing the garment altogether. In another moment, his soiled briefs lay on the floor with the rest of his clothes and the head of his dripping cock was brushing against her entrance.
He held himself there only for a second before the pressure of her legs urged him forward and he began to press in. The slickness that had surprised him before made his entry completely effortless and, in another second, he was fully sheathed in her.
At first, he restrained himself, pumping as slowly and evenly as his excitement would allow, but she then moaned his name for a again, "Deacon... please." Her eyes were wet and her mouth was agape. He couldn't help himself. He began pounding into her. She moaned wildly again, louder than before.
Their compositions were lost in the slick of their sweat and the hot breath shared between their mouths. In a burst of quick, shallow thrusts, he spilled into her, arms wrapped under her back and mouth fallen slack. He didn't make any sound as he dug his finger into her shoulders and pressed his open mouth to her neck.
Her thighs twitched around his waist as he held himself against her. He was still, other than the rise and fall of his chest and the hot pulse she felt against her core. He kissed her neck and sighed. A sudden tension released, she felt his weight press into her. He'd stopped supporting himself and was resting against her. She relaxed too, falling into a restful drowse as she grazed her fingers along his back.
Neither of them spoke, savoring warmth of each others skin and forgetting the long day that lay ahead of them.