Lierdumoa
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP; Gale POV
Warning: unbeta'd
Randy likes it a little rough sometimes. We'll be making out. On the couch,
or something equally juvenile. He'll lift his hips and shove down his boxers.
Then he'll pull me into a straddle over his thighs and yank down my underwear
while I'm busy bracing myself on his shoulders, grab the hand lotion from the
end table, squirt some into his hand, and go to work.
Yes, that would be oil based lotion. No, there wouldn't happen to also be a
condom on that end table. I'm not Brian Kinney, Randy's most definitely not
Justin Taylor, and isn't fucking without a condom one of the main perks of getting
hitched?
Which we did. Sort of. Last year. Went up to Toronto, signed the paperwork.
There wasn't much of a ceremony. We tend to avoid large gatherings of people.
We're about six times as anti-social together as we are apart. I suppose being
in a couple is supposed to improve you as a person rather than just give you
an opportunity to feed off the other person's bad habits. But we're happy, so
fuck it.
So we have sex the married way. The cheap and dangerous way. We trust each other
well enough. I was never a particularly big fan of casual sex and Randy cheated
on his boyfriend exactly once. With me. He called the guy and told him the next
morning and then he was my boyfriend. All mine.
Allow me to just skip the segue here and bring us straight back to the couch
and the straddling and Randy's fingers slipping out of my ass.
He doesn't waste much time on preparation. Just slides some lotion over himself
and starts to work himself in slowly. Really slowly. It seems to take him hours
to get all the way in. I know I won't notice the soreness till the next morning
when I can't sit down. Slow torture. For both of us. By the time he's about
halfway in I'm straining for more and his hands are gripping my hips like a
vise, working against me to maintain his excruciatingly slow pace.
Just when I think I might lift my arms up from his shoulders to curl around
his neck and choke him to death if he doesn't hurry up for the love of God --
he lets go. Hands off my hips. I realize that my ass is pressed against his
thighs and he's buried to the hilt in me.
I sit and enjoy the feeling for a moment. I let my eyes fall shut in a slow
blink. By the time Randy's face comes back into focus, I see that he's biting
hard into his bottom lip. His eyes are giving me a pleading look that says,
'do something please...please...before I break.'
My hands move, one sliding down his shoulder to grip his bicep, the other sliding
up to curl around his nape. I bend to kiss him, and it's only when my lips touch
his that I realize I've stopped breathing. I start up again, hard and heavy
against his face. I always feel ridiculous right then, gasping like a landed
fish. Randy would probably say I look ridiculous, but by this time my body's
finally gotten with the program and I'm lifting myself off him, pushing back
down, and he's sliding in and out, faster and faster and neither of us are thinking
about outward appearances.
I'm not self aware during sex. I leave it to Randy to be aware of the both of
us. It's always him who slides his hand between my legs to jerk me off when
I can't even remember if I have hands anymore. It's always him who traces his
fingers along my hips afterwards to soothe the slight bruises he left.
Any bruises I leave are always a complete surprise to me when I discover them
afterwards. The finger marks on his bicep. The tooth marks on the side of his
neck. I suppose I must have bitten him when I came. I forget myself. He likes
me like this, so I don't tell him how it scares me a little. Cheap, dangerous,
bareback, over-emotional, married sex.
Afterwards I'll drift off, him still inside me. Leave him to do the cleanup.
He's good for that. He's good.
We're good.
End