song_tra_bong | (no subject)

(no subject)

At first glance, room M16 looks like a well-furnished hotel room, but not terribly personalized. Sharp eyes, however, might spot the postcard wedged in the frame of the mirror, or the rifle under the bed.

"Here we are," she says. "Home sweet home."

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She crosses the room after him.

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

She dips her head to kiss him thoroughly, the follow-up kisses steadily trailing down his throat, collarbone, and still further down.

He snorts a laugh at 'sweetheart' and his hand rests on the back of her head, pushing it lightly, but inexorably, downwards.

'Don't put up much of a fight, do you?'

Women in his time are less keen on blowjobs, unless you're paying them of course. It's one of the main reasons he hates Catholicism. It makes every puta so uptight about things that make him feel good.

She braces her hands on his thighs, resisting his guidance just long enough to lift her head and meet his eyes.

"You haven't given me a reason to fight yet. Or should I just start throwing punches?"

He laughs, not removing his hand from her head.

'Not until you've finished with this,' he nods downwards, smirking, 'but maybe afterwards if you feel like it.'

"Careful," she she says, digging in slightly with her nails.

"Or I'll take you up on it."

She bows her head the rest of the way, kneeling at last, and drags her tongue in one slow swipe up his cock.

He lets out a long breath, threading his fingers in her hair.

'Don't I seem like the type that would like it?'

He totally doesn't, from women. Or at least, he doesn't think he does - he hasn't really met any that would dare attempt it.

She chuckles low in her throat, the closest she's willing to come to an answer.

One quick flick of her tongue to the head before she closes her lips lightly around it and slides her head down.

'Ohhhhyeah.'

It comes out as a long, exhaled breath and he relaxes back against the wall, head tilted back and eyes closing. His hands stay in her hair, just in case she gets any ideas about stopping but he does look at her after a while, a little breathless.

'You provide a good view.'

Great ass. And back, for that matter. Great body all over.

Fantastic back. (The tattoo complements it as if she should never have gone without it.)

When she's drawn him as far into her mouth as she can, she holds him there for a moment before pulling back, lips tightening steadily.

She'll probably hear the soft, contented groan that her mouth pulls from him; she'll definitely feel the way his fingers tighten, then relax, on her head.

'Yeah, like that. Do that again.'

She can do that all damn night, if she likes.

Not all night, since she wants to get little out of this for herself (and her jaw would hate her in the morning).

For now, though, she's feeling generous, so she repeats the motion.

Again.

And again.

One thing she'll no doubt notice pretty soon - he's a selfish bastard. He doesn't know she knows him in thirty years time so feels little compunction to be nice. He's quite happy to let her do this for as long as she wants to and the litany of soft, relaxed noises coming from him coupled with the way he's rocking up into her mouth will show how much he appreciates what she's doing.

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