Green

 

 

"Right," Kathy Swanson breathes after a sudden still moment. "If my--mm, no, stop that for a moment, I have a speech to make, I'm promoting you--if my tally's correct, I have just passed the twenty-orgasm mark, which means that you are merely scum of the earth, etcetera, and so on."

Jack--Jack Bloody Harkness, still trying to impress her even after the nice dinner, and if he wasn't so insufferably charming it might be pathetic, but still, she's had worse dates--surfaces, wipes his mouth with his free hand, and curls two fingers very gently inside her to make her purr. "That's a promotion?"

"Trust me," she says dryly, "it is. Though you do get extra points for knowing your way around a dental dam."

He blinks in what looks like genuine surprise. "What, you mean people don't?"

"Men, yes. And stupid people."

"Ah. I do try to be a good example for my species."

"Oh, come off it. If I were swinging the other way tonight, what would you have done, thrown Cooper at me?"

"Well, there was this one day when she...never mind. It's complicated." Jack pets her thick black curls fondly, nudges his shoulder against the muscle of her thigh. "What, might I ask, is the next rank above scum of the earth?"

"Not scum of the earth." She stretches a little, grinds against his hands, lets out a languid sigh. He is impressing her, that's the embarrassing part. "But the prime qualification for that is stamina, and somehow you don't seem the type."

Jack chuckles, and she can feel his eyes tracing up her body, drinking her in. "I've surprised you so far. Going to stop giving me a chance?"

She tilts her head to one side as she looks down at him from where she's propped up on pillows. "Are you even hard? Are you actually enjoying this, or are you just showing off--no." For a moment she loses the teasing tone, pure barking order, and Jack freezes in place. "Don't move."

So instead, by way of answering, he slides his free hand down between his legs, comes up with a soft, lusty hiss of breath and a little slick smear on his fingertip. She raises her eyebrows, impressed. "Why?"

He licks his finger clean with an offhand flick of his tongue. "Because you're gorgeous?"

She swats at his shoulder. "Stop flattering me. It's how I got myself into this absurd situation to begin with."

"Well then, I haven't a hope of explaining. I suppose I'll have to go back to proving my stamina."

"Fair enough." She pulls herself off his fingers, lets him peel off the dam and the glove while she retrieves a condom from the drawer and tosses it at him. "If you're leaking like that, I'll give you, oh," a look at the clock, "three minutes? Tops?"

"I think I'm insulted." He hauls himself onto the bed proper--he's been kneeling on the floor to get a better angle at her cunt, and she can't deny, though doesn't voice, how much she likes that bit. "Even with the way you squeeze down when you come," and he demonstrates in the air with his hand, "if I only make it three minutes, I'll be off demoting myself."

"Ah, so that's what they're calling it these days. No, down on your back." She grabs his blood-dark cock as he goes by, fists once and not gently, and it's hard as anything, and he groans a little in the back of his throat, shakes himself a little and grins slyly. Swats his ass when that goes by, too, as he crawls up beside her--the crawling's as nice as the kneeling, she thinks--and he doesn't yelp like she'd expected, but just about backs into it, lets out a nearly inaudible purr.

She just looks at him for a moment. He looks back, over his shoulder, a hint of a flush on his face. He's still got that look like he's trying to pretend this is just a test, just some bizarre sort of not-really-hate-sex, but there's a shadow of need in his eyes.

When she does it again, he full-on does back into it, and his cock twitches, and a delighted thrill of arousal runs through her.

"Well," she says. This she would not have dared to expect.

"You do that often?" he asks with that insinuating soft chuckle.

"I suppose I don't have to be gentle with you, do I?"

"Not so much."

"I think I'll postpone the promotion hearing. There's this tempting diversion involving having you over my lap so I beat the crap out of you."

"Sounds worthwhile to me," he says, cheerful. His cock twitches again; he licks his lips, crawls up to her after she's made herself comfortable against the headboard. She settles the weight of him over her thighs, nudges his knees up under him so his ass is high in the air, leaving his face in the mattress. She's more then pleasantly surprised; most men whine and bluster a lot more before letting themselves into this sort of position. "I tend," he says, slightly muffled, "to safeword like a traffic signal. You?"

"The classics have their appeal."

"Green," he murmurs. "Very green."

"I noticed," she says dryly, and brings her hand down hard on that perfectly toned behind with considerable satisfaction. He jerks and groans a bit as she works him towards pink, big hands curling in the sheets, but not much more of a reaction than that, and her hand starts to sting. Fortunately she positioned herself close to her nightstand--she doesn't keep much about, but at least she's got a little wooden paddle handy.

He starts at the cool wood brushing over pink skin. "I really don't have to be gentle with you," she says, not letting it be a question.

"No. Very green. Hope you're finding this satisfying?"

"Quite." The smack against his skin and the reverb through hard muscle is a delight. He groans at the first blow, gasps sharp and sudden at the second, and she rests her free arm on his back--which shakes a little when she goes for his thighs with the paddle--and smiles to herself until his ass is cherry red and he's writhing a little, panting with real, lush pain, and though his cock isn't against her thigh with his ass up like that, it occurs to her--"You could come from this, couldn't you?"

"Yes." His voice has gone wonderfully ragged. He's a lot prettier like this, she thinks. "Holding back as best I can though."

That makes her smile. "Why?"

"Because you don't want me to."

Oh. "Form of address?" she asks, snapping a fingernail hard against the tender, tender skin, right at the sweet spot between ass and thigh, thumb's-width from his balls. He jolts, breathes slow, recovering, probably getting over his ego enough to answer.

"Ma'am? Sir? Mistress? Grand Poobah? A preference?"

"Brat." She wallops him hard, then adds, for possibly necessary clarification, "That's you, not me." Tilts her head to one side. "You know, I think I like Sir. The gender dichotomy is fun."

"Yes, Sir." His voice, muffled by the awkward angle of being face-down in the mattress, is a little rougher still. A little humble. She drags the side of the paddle rough over reddened and hypersensitive skin, follows with her nails, listens to him whimper, and she doesn't even have to ask--he's enjoying this way too much to just be humoring her.

"I honestly didn't expect you to have a submissive side to you," she ruminates aloud as she digs nails into him.

"I've got most sides to me, but it's...hard for me, sometimes, Sir."

"I'd imagine, ego your size." Runs nails oh so gently over his balls, feels him stiffen with that instinctive masculine fear. He doesn't rise to the bait, just moans. Louder when she grazes close to his asshole, close as she'll go on principle without a glove. "Would you like something inside you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm unconvinced."

"Please, Sir?"

"Still unconvinced." He's silent for a moment, just a shudder running through him, and she wonders if she's pushing humiliation boundaries. Wouldn't surprise her overmuch. "Where's your traffic signal?"

"Green, Sir." He draws a deep breath; she watches the play of muscles in his back as he shifts, taking some of his weight on his elbows. "I...I want you to fuck me, Sir." He's hiding his face behind his arm now. "Please, Sir, I want it, fuck, I want it so much."

"Somehow I didn't think you'd be good at begging."

"Please!" There's genuine desperation in his voice now, which doesn't save him from a few brutal smacks until he adds the Sir.

"On condition, then: you'll get something inside you, but I'm not going to touch your cock." He makes a faint noise at that which makes her think he's biting his lip. "Goes without saying that you're not either. I'll play with your ass, you come from that or from the pain, when your stamina runs out. It is a very nice cock, I'm sure, but I'm not going to spoil you."

"Of course not, Sir. I accept, Sir. Just please..."

She puts on a glove with a loud snap, and he jolts again at the noise. Lubes up her fingers and slides them, cold and wet, over his ass, not quite going in yet. The little, wordless, pleading noise in the back of his throat is gorgeous.

He babbles thanks for a moment as she slides one finger in, backs against it eagerly enough that she has to smack him into stillness. Holds himself perfectly rigid, then, with just soft, lusty moans as she works two fingers in, curls them against his prostate just as ruthlessly as he'd hit her g-spot earlier, and he hisses ragged profanities, groans like a man about to come very hard, bites up a mouthful of sheet, still holding himself back.

"You're accommodating," she observes, as she gets in three. He's so close she can feel it in her gut, like a wire strung through them.

"Yes, Sir," he pants. "Thank you, Sir."

"People frequently complain of the size of my buttplug, as I only have one. I think you can take it though." She fucks him a bit, a few languid strokes with three bunched fingers while he pants white-knuckled across her lap, and then pulls the offending object out of the nightstand--she's given up and just left the drawers open by now. Long as her hand and thick as his cock; she rolls a condom on, lubes it up, nudges the blunt tip of it against his ass.

"Please, Sir," he murmurs.

She's pretty sure he's a hair's-breadth from coming as she slides it slowly but surely in; there's a full-body spasm as it reaches the widest point and slips quickly home, and another as she nudges it in full to the base, and another along with a loud, hoarse moan as she smacks his ass with the plug in place.

"Like this?" she murmurs.

"Yes, Sir." His voice is dripping lust. "Feels amazing, Sir. Can't see why people would complain, size is just about right, Sir." She smacks him for that, this time with the paddle she'd set aside earlier, and he almost cries out properly. So much more sensation, she knows, with the force of the beating nudging the plug about inside him. Probably hitting his prostate. He's faded a bit off that brilliant red; she fixes that as he bucks and almost howls in her lap, and then he starts to curse a little, first in English, then in French, then in a language she doesn't recognize, that doesn't sound familiar at all, and that wigs her out just a little, so she clamps her free hand over his mouth.

"It's taking everything you've got not to come, isn't it?" she murmurs, bending as close to his ear as is convenient. There's something muffled against her hand. She's more than a little high off him now, smacks low and tender on his burning ass. "You're doing wonderfully, I'll give you that. But I know you can't take much more--"

And then she stops, because he's turned his head, a little, as much as he can, into her hand, nudging his nose against her thumb, closing one nostril.

She freezes for a long moment, sets aside the paddle, slowly peels her hand off his face. She's so high off this that her cunt is twitching and she's barely even aware of it, spasms of arousal catching her by surprise. He's panting hard, very still, looks slowly up at her, and there's nothing but need on that too-handsome face now.

"Just how kinky are you?" she asks, very softly.

"Green," he whispers. "Sir."

She lays her hand slowly over his face again. Knows how strong he is; he could buck away from it. He doesn't. Just looks up at her with drowning blue eyes, and it's like there's a chain stretching from him to her.

She clamps down over his mouth, pinches his nose, counts fifteen seconds. He goes rigid still, the dead silence of the breathless. She doesn't breathe either, feels his belly flutter as he tries to draw air that isn't there.

She lets go. He gasps air with a sudden, joyous shudder through his whole body, a soft, wordless shout, and if she thought he was close to coming earlier--

The last deliberate thing she does is grab a condom. Then she wrestles him out of her lap, rolls him up to sitting--square on that red-hot, tender ass, on the plug thick and deep inside him, and the hiss and moan at that is beautiful--and fumbles it onto him. She's dripping now, she realizes when she moves. Her upper thighs slide wet as she straddles him.

"I thou--" he starts. He's losing it. Last vestiges of control, of smug, annoying facade breaking away.

"Change of plans, shut up," she says, looking him straight in the eye, and she starts coming almost the moment she sinks down onto him. It is a nice cock, filling her perfectly, but she only thinks about that for about a second before clamping both her hands over his face and silencing those ragged, desperate gasps.

She holds him for as long as she dares, almost still on his cock, feeling herself come again and again with a sort of strange distance, rolling clenches of her cunt around him.

He reddens. He looks too old. He looks ancient. Something there now that she's stripped away everything else that she can't quite name. It's just in his eyes, but he has the strangest eyes she's ever seen.

His head's back against the wall. He can't turn away. She's got his everything in her hands; the power rush scares her almost shitless, and when that's gone away there's just tenderness. Strange, beautiful man, now that she's stripped him down.

Long as she dares. She lets go, and air rushes into him exultant, and he comes right that second, comes just from inhaling, hot inside her, with those strange eyes wide and a stunned shout, and after a moment he softens, and she slides off him, and it's over.

He's very still. Breath shifts his ribs; slowly he looks over to her.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, "thank you, Sir."

She steadies herself, feels her legs shake from coming around him as he suffocated, does the practical thing and rolls off the condom.

"Well," she says softly.

"'m I promoted?"

"Mm-hm. Sure thing. What do you need for aftercare?"

He shifts a little, as if remembering he has a body, licks doubtlessly dry lips. "Not much." Still macho, apparently. "Hold me?" He slides down to the mattress, almost boneless like some big cat, curls with his head on her thigh. "You?"

Something tells her not to ask exactly why he'd looked like that as she smothered him, so instead she slides an arm over him, strokes his hair. "I did okay? Didn't hurt you?"

"Oh, no, you were amazing." His voice is still weak, unguarded. Much better this way. "You can't possibly know how much I needed that." Yup, definitely not asking. He curls closer, lolls against her leg, all tension gone. She pets him absentmindedly about the shoulders.

"If you get up for a bit, I could get that plug out of you..."

He makes a noncommittal sort of noise. "Don't bother, I'm fine." Accommodating indeed.

"Well, don't think you're going home with it." She looks up at the ceiling, grins helplessly. "You, by the way, have officially reached the rank of Not An Asshole."

Jack cheers weakly into her thigh, and she just snorts and breaks down in bewildered, gleeful laughter.

 

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