teasing around

the weight on your chest seemed immense tonight, but it was a feather in contrast to the heat that poured from between your legs. your body twists, knuckles turning a ghastly white as they clench the sheet beneath you -- cool, but hardly enough to prevent your body from feeling as if it would burn from the inside out.

seven months was entirely too long to be away from him; his touch, his warmth, the way his large hands would seemingly swallow you whole. another pulse from between your legs; you try to pinch your thighs together to alleviate the tension, but the sudden pressure to your core makes you mewl quietly.

the 'news of the world tour' had been raging since early autumn; you remember the days leading up to his depart. he was up to his neck in work, but the two of you always managed to satisfy your most cardinal urges, even if it came at the rest of the band's expense. intrusive thoughts recall a time you were brought along to a rehearsal -- the band's way of giving you the entire concert considering you wouldn't see any of the shows on the road. an hour of downtime and you find yourself wedged between a wall and his massive body. where he lacked in muscle, he definitely made up for in height. make no mistake, though, his body was chiseled and carved in such a simple and elegant way, your entire body flares with heat at the thought.

your own hand cradles your breast and you desperately wish it was his, fingers twisting and pulling the sensitive nipple beneath the fabric of your nightgown, trying to imitate the action from so long ago. those fingers, so long they could only belong to a guitarist, snaking their way around your hip, digits digging into the supple flesh there before disappearing entirely beneath your skirt.

you've grown more comfortable around him; it still shocks you to this day. where your wardrobe used to be mostly prudish, now more color and less fabric take up the space in your closet. friends still tease you, wondering what ( or who in your case ) gave you such confidence in such a short period of time.

dating a rockstar will do that to you.

slipping a hand between your partially opened legs, you find yourself cursing under your breath as your fingers slowly massage your aching clit, working it in slow deliberate circles. the curve in your spine grows as your ankles dig into the mattress, angling yourself at a manner where you can slip your two middle fingers into yourself while using the heel of your hand to shamelessly grind at the little bundle of nerves.

he did this way better than you ever could, and he made sure you knew it. that shy and resolved bullshit he put on for interviews and public appearances was hardly anything like that man you knew. he'd always known how to touch, squeeze, work his mouth just right, so perfectly that it felt as if every bone in your body would melt into nothingness. head between your legs, you find yourself clapping a hand over your mouth, trying to keep your secret spot a secret as long as you could. using one of his shoulders for support, you manage to work one of your legs over his shoulder, stabilizing yourself by pressing the heel of your boot to the wall just behind the two of you. your free hand gently gathers the excess fabric of your skirt, pulling aside what had pool over his eyes so you could get a proper look at him. your hips stutter and you helplessly grind down against his tongue; a far cry from how carelessly your hand jams against yourself in the present.

his eyes are closed and his eyelashes fan out against his skin, long and perfect. ( are you jealous of his lashes? absolutely. ) closed eyes suddenly give way for hazel and you feel as if he's peering into your very soul and you eat it right up. nothing but the sounds of your growing moans and the gentle lapping of his tongue fill the tight space. it's hot. not just from the sex, but because the space is so small, and the passion growing between you is so large.