sciencesaggressively | i dooooooooooooo cherish youuuuuuuuu lmfao no but really

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kate

i dooooooooooooo cherish youuuuuuuuu lmfao no but really

It's been a month. Well, give or take, but still at least a month since he and Kate had gone on their first date. It seems like so much longer, after everything that's happened--the casket, the car accident, meeting the surrogate parent, the nightmare--and yet, he's still got butterflies in his stomach as he waits for her on the roof, holding a bottle of champagne. It had taken him most of the day to prepare this date, and she's been working so he wants so badly for this to be relaxing and enjoyable and all those nice words that should be associated with a date.

He'd been very specific. Meet him at his place, no need to knock--not that either of them do anyway. Just beyond the door, he'd placed that little pink flamingo she'd told him about, the one that her friend had put in the casket with her, with a note reading Change of plans. Take the elevator. Inside the elevator, another note: To the roof. The door to the roof has a bouquet of daisies propped on it along with another note: No broken limbs this time. P.S. Don't laugh.

And he's here, on the other side, surrounded by more arrangements of every kind of flower he could get from the shop--carnations, lilies, roses, tulips. He'd had help, of course, especially with dragging the round glasstop table and wrought iron chairs he'd found at the pawn shop up here. Plus another lawn flamingo that he'd strategically placed next to what is now being designated as Kate's chair. He figures he can leave it all, let whoever happens to come up here take advantage of it, but for now there's a lit candelabra on the table along with an ice bucket, two champagne flutes, and two plates of roasted lemongrass chicken that are still steaming under their lids. A portable stereo is playing some soft rock radio, and he's going to be pretty damn broke until he secures a job but he wants this to be special. He wants it to be something she won't forget.

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The first coherent thought she has is that she can feel his heart beating against her chest and she manages a faint grin at the sensation, her hands relaxing against his back, smoothing over his skin before he's moving away from her. She manages a faintly disgruntled whimper when she feels him pull out of her, because she'd kind of like him to stay exactly where he is for just a little while longer, but he's back within seconds and she tips her head to the side, smiling over at him. There are petals stuck to him, stuck to her, in her hair, plastered against her back, and she watches him pull one off her arm before she shakes her head.

"No, that was amazing," she says with a laugh. She's spent a lot of time imagining this over the past several weeks and whatever she'd been thinking, this has completely blown it away. "I'll live here, that's totally cool. At least for tonight and tomorrow." Suddenly she's extremely grateful she has the next day off and she wonders if she should call Carla Jean at some point just to let her know she's still alive and that she's not coming home. At least for a little while.

"So how much time did you spend imagining it?" she asks, turning toward him, her hand smoothing over his chest. "Like... just here and there or are we talking serious consideration? Because, I'll be totally honest, I thought about it all the goddamn time."

He covers her hand with one of his own, letting out a long exhale because he's still recovering, dealing with the familiar sensation of being both exhausted and full of energy at the same time--though he hadn't generally felt that way because of sex. It's better when it's because of sex, in his scientific opinion. He raises his eyebrows at the ceiling, giving her hand a quick squeeze and lets out a wheezy laugh. "How much time did I spend imagining it?" he repeats, running his free hand through his damp hair. "Oh, y'know. When I woke up, while I was eating, in the shower, walking down the street, drinking a coffee, breathing..." He turns his head to look at her, grinning. "So not that much."

He moves his arm so he can rest his head on it, still smiling at her, and brings her palm up to his lips. He likes this, too, the afterwards of being as free as they are together but in a slightly more vulnerable state. He likes that she makes him feels this way, happy for once to be still and calm and without a million thoughts racing through his brain--right now, it's just her, how much he loves her, how fucking crazy and amazing it is that he is sharing in a moment like this with her. "Your roomie will probably be happy that you're keeping me out of your place for awhile anyway," he teases. "She so adores me."

"So about the same 'not that much' that I was managing," she teases with a laugh, though now that he's mentioned himself in the shower she's thinking of that -- not for the first time either -- and she closes her eyes briefly, a gentle smile curving her lips. They have all the time in the world, but she kind of can't wait to do everything at the same time. Patience has never been her strong suit, especially not when it comes to something she likes. When she opens her eyes again, he's smiling at her and her own smile grows in response as she rolls onto her back again, looking up at the ceiling. It's not like she hasn't slept with anyone else, but she knows for certain there's never been a first time like this and she stretches her arms over her head, feeling content and comfortable and in love.

Turning over onto her stomach, she shifts over so she can drape her arm across his abdomen, resting her chin on his chest. "She does like you," she says and even though she's still smiling -- she's pretty sure she wouldn't be able to stop no matter what she tried -- she's entirely serious. If her friends didn't like him, it wouldn't have changed anything, but she's glad they do. It makes it a lot easier to have him over. Lifting her chin long enough to glance down the length of his body, she looks back up at him a second later. "But I don't want to talk about my roommate right now. I've totally spotted more tattoos."

He's more than happy to oblige with the no talking about roommates, even if he's glad to hear verbal confirmation that Carla Jean doesn't want to murder him. Tattoos, though, that's always a subject he can get on board with. "What, these?" he asks, lifting his head up a little to glance down at himself before plopping it back on the mattress. "They're mostly older. Y'know, whole rebellious I-don't-want-to-be-a-stereotypical-genius-scientist phase, the usual. Got some Godzilla, some Mothra going on." He points them out easily as he speaks, having long since memorized the position of all the art displayed on his body--and yeah, maybe they come off as a little dorky to a lot of people, they're still near and dear to him. Godzilla and Mothra, man, come on, the entire reason he fell in love with monster movies in the first place. It had only seemed right. Every single one had hurt like a bitch but every single one had also been worth the external expression of what has made him him for more than three decades.

He likes having her draped over him and he runs a hand through her hair, playing with the ends as he places a kiss at the top of her head. "Don't laugh at the dinosaurs, though, okay? You know how much I love them. Almost as much as I love you."

"Would I laugh?" she asks, which is probably a terrible question to ask, because she might laugh, but not at the tattoos. She really does like them, she likes that they're important to him instead of just random shit he's had tattooed on his body like both of hers. The one on her hip reminds her of her mom, but it's not like the symbols themselves mean anything to her. It's not like meaning is a requirement to get a tattoo, but she's sort of made herself a promise, that anything she gets from here on out has to mean something. "Come on, you know I like them." They're not the first thing she noticed about him -- that would have been the way he'd encouraged her enveloped related rage at the station -- but they're pretty close to the top of the list.

"The place where I got the one on my hip had like, four options," she tells him, rolling her eyes at herself. "My mom and I had been on our way to St. Louis Galleria and I convinced her to turn into some stupid hotel instead. It was supposed to be like, a weekend away for the two of us and I just totally ruined it by being a complete dick, so my mom transitioned into T, the teenaged alter, and nearly got the word slut tattooed on her hip in huge letters." And it would have been Kate's fault. "It was this totally seedy place and it was like, 'slut', a playboy bunny, a shamrock or some random symbols. Totally stupid that I don't even know what they mean, right? It probably just says slut in another language." But it still reminds Kate of her mom and that's pretty much what counts.

Edited 2013-12-09 13:16 (UTC)

"Yes," he answers but it's with a laugh because really, he wouldn't mind all that much. "Butf the dinosaurs don't do it, maybe this little guy will." He shows her the outer side of his calf, and it's actually not that noticeable compared to all the color on his chest and arms but still, it's there, just chillin' out. "I call him Illia," he explains, a faint smile on his face. "My uncle. He's the one who gave me the nickname. Mom never really loved it but what's she gonna do, right?" There'd been a period of time somewhere around the age of four where he'd straight refused to respond to the name Newton but it had only taken about nineteen years before his mom had accepted the nickname--mostly because he'd gotten his first doctorate by then, thus allowing her to simply refer to him as 'Doctor Geiszler' every chance she'd get.

It almost surprises him that he's remembering all this, he hasn't even really thought about it in years, hasn't seen his parents or his uncle in longer than that. He's had a lot of time to miss them, to become adjusted to not being around them, and it's a fairly unfamiliar pang in his chest that he feels at the silent reminder that he can't see them now, even after saving the world. "You mean you didn't want the slut tattoo?" he teases, snapping himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at the symbol, tracing the lines. "Wish I could help you with a translation. But at least it's a reminder of something you did with your mom, right? Makes it important, no matter what it says."

She doesn't laugh, but she is smiling when she looks down at the other tattoo, listening to Newt's story about it, listening to the way his voice sounds when he talks about his family. That's a thing she totally gets, the way he's talking about his family and the truth is, her aunt drives her completely nuts at the best of times, but Kate misses her a lot all at the same time. It's nice, hearing him talk about his family like that and she looks back up at him a moment later, watching him smile, the distant expression on his face like he's lost in a memory.

"I love you," she says without thinking and even though she's probably already said it half a dozen times tonight, she feels a flush spreading down her neck at the words. She isn't embarrassed to say it, it's more than that, it's that she likes saying it so much it sort of takes her by surprise. The touch of his fingers on the tattoo causes her to shiver and she looks down at it briefly. No one's ever paid it much mind, no one's ever touched it before except for herself and the guy who tattooed her, and it's weirdly sensitive, so close to her hipbone.

"Yeah, no slut tattoo," she says with a laugh, smiling at him. "I did try to talk my mom into clit rings, though, and she was having none of that."

He's not surprised to hear it, but it gives him a thrill to hear the words come out of her mouth. "I love you, too," he tells her softly, and he wants to say it again just to hear her say it again. He's never actively hated on romance or lovey dovey things or anything but he's also never pictured himself as the type to actually enjoy those very things. He cares what she thinks, if only because he loves her so much, but he also doesn't worry that she'll think poorly of him, and he finds that to be an invaluable trait in her. "It's cool if I tell everyone we know that, right? 'Hi, Newt, what's happenin'?' 'I love Kate.' 'Oh, hey, dude, do you have the time?' 'I love Kate.'" Totally normal and not weird at all.

He raises an eyebrow, that last part having definitely caught his attention. "Clit rings, huh?" he asks, not having missed the shiver, and trails his fingers acros her hip, letting them come to a rest just above her own. "I went to the same tattoo artist for years, and she was always trying to sell me a Prince Albert." He lowers his voice to a whisper. "I think she just wanted to see my dick." No, but seriously, she'd been one of maybe three tattoo artists in Hong Kong--resident of the Bone Slums, of course--who'd been willing to tattoo Newt's requested kaiju pieces onto him and she'd been relentless in her flirtation. Newt had been and still is certain that it's only because he'd given her something out of the norm to do, but he'd never taken the bait. After all, there'd been research to be done. "Anyway, as you can see, it never happened. Kept going back for the more colorful kind of pain instead."

"Tell everyone," she answers with a soft laugh, feeling kind of pleased by the idea of him telling people. Not just telling her, but other people, too, like he's proud of it. "'Cause I sure as hell will be. It's the first thing I'll be telling Carla Jean when I go back upstairs." Well, maybe not the first thing. Maybe the second thing. There's a way better story in what they're doing now and her smile grows a little as he drags his fingers over her hip. He keeps saying it, too, that he loves her, and she's not sure that's supposed to turn her on as much as it does or if it's just the combination of the words and his touch, but whatever it is, it's working for her.

"Yeah, well, I don't blame her," she tells him, biting her lower lip as her gaze drifts down briefly and then back up to his face. "I mean, I'd probably have done the same thing, although maybe less with the trying to sell you a piercing and more just asking if you wanted to go out." And maybe it's better that they've met here, just because she knows how dedicated he was to his work and she's pretty sure he didn't exactly have time for dates. This might be working out now, but being in another world can change a hell of a lot. "I was gonna say, it seems to have worked for me here, except you asked me out, didn't you?" Either way, it's more than worked out and she ducks her head, pressing a kiss to his chest as she smooths her hand over his stomach, then over his hip.

"I'm going to remind you that you've given me permission," he tells her. "Should I call my entire contact list right now? Just leave a bunch of messages? Right in the throes of passion, maybe, I'm sure they'll all love that." Actually, the thought makes him laugh, and he drops his forehead against her shoulder, trying to keep it together. "Oh, man, I'm losing it. Send help."

The kiss helps. He moans softly into it and at her hand on his hip, lets his fingers briefly tease at her clit before working his hand back up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. "I did ask you out," he replies, breathless, and wraps his free arm around her waist, tugging at her body, trying to get her on top of him. He can feel his cock hardening again and if he gives himself a mental pat on the back because fuck yes, stamina, then whatever. He thinks he's gone long enough without sex before this to deserve it. "I'm just glad nobody else got a chance first."

She loves when he laughs and for a second she just watches him, even if the idea of him calling Chuck in the midst of having sex just to let him know how well things are going is both super funny and kind of horrifying all at the same time. Her mouth opens to say something when she feels his fingers on her again and the words, whatever they might have been, are just gone. It's not the first time he's done this to her tonight and she draws in a shuddering breath before his hand slips up to her breast and he's still speaking as he tugs her on top of him, but it takes her a second to register what he's saying.

Straddling his hips, she smiles a little, stretched out on top of him before she presses a kiss to his chin, then his mouth, her teeth grazing lightly at the soft skin of his lower lip. "Hey, you weren't the first. I got asked out a bunch of times," she tells him. "I just always said no until you." And that's not strictly true, she'd said yes once and had considered it a few times since then, but he'd been the only person to ask her out in Darrow she'd actually been excited about. She's glad that's the case and as she rolls her hips down, moving as slowly as possible on purpose, she grins, watching his face for a reaction.

He closes his eyes at the kisses she leaves on his face, smiling when he feels her teeth against his bottom lip and letting out a little whine when she pulls away to speak. He blinks an eye open, waving his hand dismissively before settling it back on the small of her back. "Whatever, I'm going to actively not think about all the other people who asked you out because I'll be predisposed to dislike every single one of them." He leans forward, taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking gently as he moves his hand between her legs, groaning at the slickness he finds there.

He lowers his head back down and bites down hard on the inside of his cheek at the way she rolls her hips over him, arches his back, craving friction, his eyes glazing over with desire for more. All talk about former dating prospects are forgotten as he grinds against her again, cock brushing against her wetness. He knows he needs to take a breath, slow it down, maybe they can take their time this round because as fucking mind-blowing as their first time had been, as much as he knows they have all the time in the world to do this again and again, right now he wants to bury himself inside her and stay like that for as long as he can. "You're a menace," he complains through a sigh, though he's dazedly smiling. "But you're my menace."

For just a second, she's ready to tell him again that he's the only one she went out with, certainly the only one she loves, but then he has his hand between her thighs again and Kate can only let out a soft moan instead. Whatever she was going to say is completely forgotten, because this is the only place in the world she wants to be right now and she can feel him under her, hard against the inside of her thigh. She's had this whole plan of taking it slow this time, driving him absolutely crazy if she can, but suddenly she's the impatient one, she just wants him inside her again and she forces herself to sit up, her hands braced against his chest.

After a deep breath, she manages a smile, looking down at him. "I like that, I don't think anyone's ever called me a menace before." And he's the first person to call her his anything, which she sort of really likes, too, because she is his. Kind of completely.

Her hips arch down again, grinding herself against him, and a breath catches in her chest before she ducks her head, pressing kisses to the line of his ribs, moving lower, over warm skin and the colourful ink that's absolutely everywhere. She pushes herself further down his body, reaching between them as she bites gently at the edge of his hip, and her fingers wrap around his cock, stroking as she trails kisses across his hip to his thigh.

She moves away and he groans at the loss of warmth against his chest but then she's sitting up on him and grinding against him again and Christ, his hips leave the bed when he feels the graze of her teeth. He shudders when she strokes him, and the tremors don't stop, it's all he can do to not flip her onto her back right now and fuck her again. But he wants this, wants her to do whatever she wants to him because it's already feeling so good. He threads his fingers through her hair as his hips buck, goosebumps appearing on his skin when she kisses at the sensitive area on his thigh. He so doesn't want to leave this bed ever, doesn't want this to stop; he thinks they could totally make a living out of just having sex all day and yeah, okay, maybe that's called porn so never mind. The sex part still sounds appealing but being naked like this, being inside her and riding those waves of pleasure together, it's all just for them.

"Maybe nobody ever said it," he answers, biting back a whimper as she gives his cock another stroke, "but they were totally thinking it. I appreciate that I'm the first one, though, I take pride in that." As much he wants this to last as long as possible, his cock has different ideas and is already starting to drip over the firm grasp she has on him. "Jesus Christ, did you read a manual on all the right ways to touch me? You have any idea what you do to me?"

"Took the class," she answers before swiping her tongue along the crease of his thigh. "But the fact that you can still talk so much means I'm not doing very well." She's teasing and she kind of loves that he's still talking, fully coherent sentences that she can follow, sentences that kind of make her feel like she's doing everything right and it's not like she's ever really been super worried, but it's still nice to hear.

With a smile, she turns her head from his thigh, her lips brushing against his cock and she can't wait, she can't drag it out forever, she's just going to drive herself crazy instead of him. Her tongue follows the path her lips have taken, following the length of him until she reaches the head of his cock and takes him into her mouth. She can taste him already and a muffled moan escapes her, her free hand curling over his hip to steady herself, her other hand twisting around him. She could stay here forever, she thinks, forget about work, about any other responsibilities and it's not only that she wants him to fuck her about a thousand more times or that she wants to watch his face when he comes, it's that she loves him, and somehow that makes everything better. Her gaze flicks up as she sucks him, her lips and tongue moving against his cock, her hand still stroking him in time with the movements of her mouth and all she wants to do is look at him and touch him and her hand tightens on his hip as her hair falls into her face, obscuring her view.

"Passed with flying colors, actually," he answers, gasping as her lips touch his cock. "Gold stars, lots of them, holy shit." A wave of pleasure--followed by another and another--shoots through him, making his whole body tremble as he grips the bedsheets with both hands, balling his fists. He's seeing stars again before his vision starts to get blurry and he realizes it's because his eyes are half-closed to accompany a dropped jaw that's trying and failing to form words.

Her moan vibrates around him, and he can't help but thrust his hips up, further into her mouth, and Christ, she's really good at this. Every touch, every flick of her tongue, it's all going to lead to another quick ending if she doesn't stop sucking him like this, but he also doesn't want it to stop; it's a very confusing crossroads he's arrived at just now, very much not helped by another twist of her hand. "Seriously," he groans, moving a hand through his hair and tugging with frustration. "I might have been wrong about the lasting longer than eight seconds this time."

She's beginning to think it's just him, that he's just capable of talking no matter what and she's beginning to think it's actually a pretty good thing, because when he speaks, she's just more and more sure that she's doing everything right and that's a hell of a good feeling. But then she glances up again through the curtain of her hair and it looks like he's trying to speak and can't and that feels like a little victory, too.

When he does manage to speak again, Kate pulls back, her hand still wrapped around him, lips wet, and she smiles a little. A part of her just wants to keep going, to wait until he can't take it anymore, but she really doesn't want it to end so quickly and she presses her lips to the head of his cock before asking, "Should I stop?" And, okay, she's probably just making it worse, teasing him like this, but she kind of can't help it, not when he looks so good, spread out on the bed, his hair messier than usual after he pushes his hand through it. She reaches up with one hand to push her hair off her face, her other hand moving slowly now, waiting for his answer.

"Ha. Ha ha, you're real funny," he tells her and yeah, there's a trace of humor in his words but also no, not funny, Kate. She knows exactly what she's doing right now and if he wasn't a few sucks and strokes away from letting go entirely, he'd have a much better quip for her right now. But it's hard to stay even pretend mad at her when she's still got her hand around him and brushing the mess off hair out of the way of her face and wow, the sight of her like this is just so fucking incredible and he has to bite down so hard on his lip that he thinks he might split it just to keep the pathetic mewling that's threatening to leave his throat at bay.

He should really just make a move because it's a point that just feels torturous--a stupidly good kind of torture, though, he has to admit at least that--but he's kind of just under her spell, unable to even inch his way back to that drawer with the condoms in it. There's no rush, he knows, other than to beat the clock that's counting down until his dick can't take anymore of what she's doing. But to hell with it, he decides as he takes a breath and closes his eyes, rolling his hips to cause friction between his cock and her hand. As far as he's concerned, she can do whatever the hell she wants to him. He'll have no complaints.

"That's not really an answer," she teases and for a second, she has an internal debate over what to do before deciding they have all the time in the world. She might be impatient, she might really just want to feel him inside her again, but it's not like this is their only shot, like this is the only night they have. When he pushes his hips up, his cock sliding through the circle of her hand, she grins briefly, then ducks her head, her lips parting to take him into her mouth again. As much as she wants him, she kind of loves this, too, the feel of him in her mouth, heavy and hard against her tongue and another soft, breathless hum escapes her as her hand slides up the bed, searching blindly for his hand.

When she finds his fingers, she threads them through hers briefly, then lifts his hand, pushing it into her own hair. She's never liked being pushed around, but she loves the feeling of being held onto to and her gaze drifts up again, watching him, watching his face. Just the sight of him manages to pull another soft moan from her and he's not even doing anything to her, but he doesn't have to be.

"I always hated pop quizzes," he quips but he also thinks that as far as pop quizzes go, this has most definitely been his favorite. He squeezes her hand tight before she brings it to her hair and fucking Christ, he can't believe how much a goddamn turn-on it is for her to want him to do this. He curls his fingers around her soft strands, careful not to be too rough, and thrusts up again, encouraging her to take him into her mouth all the way.

"Oh, sh-shit," he groans and the stutter alone indicates to him just how close he really is. He knows he's not going to last more than a few seconds longer, not with how deep he is or how fucking amazingly she's sucking him. He feels it inside of him, the pleasure rising higher as his breaths come shorter and his hips move more erratically as he guides her to a quicker rhythm. "Kate, fuck, I'm going to come." He can't even think, doesn't know how this needs to go, all he knows is that if he doesn't let go right fucking now, he might actually combust.

There's something about the feeling of his hand in her hair and the fact that he's willing to thrust, that he's not treating her like some breakable doll that sends a bolt of pleasure through her and she groans again, louder this time, her hand spasming briefly against his thigh. Her other hand twists around his cock and she closes her eyes briefly, just enjoying this, the sound of his breath quickening, knowing she's doing that to him. Knowing she's made him feel good enough that his words don't quite come out on the first try is kind of amazing.

She appreciates the warning, but she doesn't back off, following the rhythm he's setting, her tongue moving against the underside of his cock. That's what she wants, that's everything she wants in this moment. Her focus has completely come down to him and she opens her eyes, looking up again, taking him deeper into her mouth as she watches his expression change.

The fact that she keeps going, that she doesn't pull away, it pushes him over the edge. He wants to keep eye contact with her, wants to keep his eyes on her when he comes because god, she looks so fucking amazing with her hair everywhere and her mouth taking his cock in so far, but he's hit with such strong waves of pleasure that course through him, make him buck his hips as he releases, force his head back as he keeps grip with one hand in her hair and the other fisting at the sheets.

He grasps for words as he comes back down, every part of him still sensitive and tingling and wanting her. He wants to return the favor, push her on her back and push her legs apart and fuck her with his tongue until she's either screaming or speechless. But right now, it's all he can do to even get his eyes back open, breaths still shallow and chest covered with a light sheen of perspiration. He blinks an eye open to see her wipe at the corner of her mouth and fuck, his girlfriend is unbelievably sexy. It takes him a second to realize he's said that last part out loud. "Seriously, though," he says, voice sounding a bit hoarse as he remembers how to speak, "that felt so fucking good. You're amazing."

At his words, she laughs, thumb swiping at the corner of her lips before she presses another kiss to his hip and she could come up with a million flippant comments in response, but she keeps them to herself. As great as she thinks she is, as confident as she normally is, sometimes she isn't sure what to do with a real compliment, especially from someone she cares about so much, but she doesn't want to just brush it off either. Releasing him gently, she crawls back up the bed toward Newt, stretching out on her stomach beside him as she drags her fingertips up the length of his body and yeah, she's feeling pretty pleased with herself, because she's pretty sure she's never made anyone react like that and she's sure it's not all her, she's sure it's just his personality, the fact that he doesn't hold back in anything, but she likes it. A lot.

"Yeah, that was a lot of fun," she agrees and she's very much looking forward to doing it again and again, and she totally can't help getting ahead of herself when she's still so turned on. His skin is damp and she leans in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, tasting salt on her lips. "I could get used to doing that like, all the time. Hey, welcome home, how was your day, blowjob," she teases.

His eyes widen as he lets out a heavy sigh, turning his head to look her with a pleading expression. "You can't say things like that because then I'll start coming home and totally expecting that and it'll just make me spoiled." He looks back up at the ceiling for a moment, dwelling briefly on the fact that they're talking about 'home like they share one and hell, they practically do with how often they're at each other's places on a daily basis. But now's not really the time to really dig into that, he thinks, not when she's just given him an amazing blow job and she still needs taking care of.

He slides his hand from her ass up her back and curls his fingers into her hair. "Of course, I could always just return the favor." He gingerly gets to his knees, cock still sensitive from release, and rolls her onto her back so he's straddling her. He leans down to swirl his tongue over her nipple, rubbing over the other with his palm. He takes her breast in his mouth, sucking lightly as he gasps softly when he grinds his cock against her. He inches his way further down her body until he's between her legs and nudges her thighs open. He kisses down one thigh until coming oh-so-close to her clit before doing the same to the other. He wants to make her feel as good as she's made him, wants to taste her again, wants to make her come again. He can't help but moan as he digs his fingers into her hips and pushes into her with his tongue.

"I don't know, as far as being spoiled goes, this is kind of a great area to concentrate on," she says with a laugh, because it's not like it's fun only for him. If that's how she wants to greet him after he gets home from work every day -- or after she does, depending on her schedule -- she figures they'll both enjoy it. Briefly it occurs to her, too, that they're talking about home like they live together and another night it might have freaked her out, but it doesn't seem so scary right now. She smiles up at him as she rolls onto her back, her hands sliding up his thighs as he sits overtop her and her back arches as the touch of his tongue against her breast. If this is what it's like to be spoiled, then she's absolutely all for it.

Her breath hitches when he pushes her legs apart and one of her hands twitches against the bed sheets, clutching them tightly as she feels his moan vibrating across her skin. "Oh, god, Newt," she breathes, pressing toward his mouth, her hips rolling up. The hand that isn't twisted in the sheets gropes for one of his hands on her hip, squeezing blindly, as her breath quickens.

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