DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #96 - time won't let me

⚠️ super extended, super detailed, slight smut.
I apologise because this is yet another example of a chapter in which absolutely nothing happens ⚠️

'Sorry for ... before. I was a mess'. I whine, as he pulls me closer to him, and basically makes sure I lay with my back on his chest. He's half sitting with his back against the headboard of the bed, and I'm basically his lap doll, with my legs spread over his one thigh, and my buttocks slightly pressed against his crotch. His hands, once subtly teasing my breasts, are now rubbing my bare stomach. And although I'm a bit confused, since I thought we were kicking in one of our usual foreplaying routines, but it turns out we ain't just yet ... I'm still loving his touch. He's doing as little as rubbing my tummy, from my ribs all the way down to my navel, and I'm quivering in confusion, anticipation and uselessness. I am sensitive to touch, pretty much everywhere, I know him, and I know he responds to touch just as well as I do. I'm dying to touch him back, but from this position, I can't move that much. He's muffling a laugh under his breath, he's letting his hands spring free all over my insecurities, but I'm somehow feeling... beautiful. Flawed, a tad bit too insecure, but still beautiful. Sure, I'm sucking my stomach in because I'm randomly thinking about Cuntrell's hateful words and inquisitive looks of not so long ago... but man, this is the most physical Sean and I have been in a while, and I fucking love it. I want more of it. I want more of him. I want his hands in places he probably doesn't want to lay 'em just yet, because I'm sure a part of him still thinks I'm drunk, and he's clearly said he doesn't want to take advantage of me while I'm like this. But I ain't drunk, nor tipsy. I'm legit and working wonders, inside and outside. And to let him know that, once and for all, I'm now going the length of apologising to him for having made myself look like a mess for him, when I first sneaked into his room. Yeah, I'm apologising to him for having thrown myself at him, having begged for sex, and having acted real petty and rude about it. That wasn't me. That was my red wine induced high acting for me. But I've hundred percent recovered from it, I promise.

'You're saying this as if having you all over me could ever be a bad thing'. He hums into my ear, before he brings his lips to mine, and we exchange a slow, passionate, and rather sweet kiss. Spicy, too, because from the way our tongues are entwining, slippery and needy like we've been starved of one another for the longest time ... I can clearly feel that we crave a much deserved moment of intimacy for ourselves. I can feel his hands making their slow, steady, teasing way back to my breasts, mid kiss, and his gentle touch is giving me the shivers. But I can also feel his setback with me, and I love it to hate it. I get it, he wasn't that bothered when I pushed my drunken, horny self into this room, and begged for a piece of him. I get it, I don't ever have to apologise for throwing myself at him and doing the desperate for sex. He will always have me covered, rigorously in his terms, according to the setting and how much liquor is in my system at any given time. And honestly, with his hands over me and his sweet nothings in my ears... I feel like this is the safest I've been in a long, long time. He is a homeless, or the closest as it gets to that, I am ten time zones behind the place I call a home... but still, I feel like I'm at home, it's warm and sunny outside, and it's clean bedsheets day.

'You can touch me, baby. I don't bite'. He speaks, taking a break from kissing me, and getting back at twirling his tongue around mine when I chuckle at his words. More or less an hour into some strict 'no touching the Shon' policy, he's finally giving me a pass to lay my hands on him in an inappropriate manner ... and although I know he bites, on occasion, I don't hesitate to touch him. I sneak my one hand under his shirt, and I let it trail all over his chest, mirroring his gentle and steady touch on my breasts. My other hand is thrown back, awkwardly so, rubbing his dark strands while we keep kissing and touching like it's the first time we're ever doing this. We've had sex a few times, in a few different flavours, from heavenly to raunchy to a mix of both of them ... but for some odd reason, what we're doing right now feels intense and fucking, fucking good. He's cooking, I'm simmering, all of that longing and being cold and apart only made us grown fonder of one another ... and I feel like we're gonna be served hot real damn soon.