Queen's Choice Fanfics

First times: Victor

Soft smut, is still smut! :D <3

Victor awoke to the warm rays of sunlight pouring through the cracks of his curtain. He couldn't remember the last he awoke past sunrise. The busy life of a CEO normally dictated he be up before the city, that was if he had slept at all. He looked over to the unneeded alarm on his bed stand, 9:32am. Definitely unusual for him. A small movement to his side reminded him he wasn't alone in his bed. He turned to look at the still sleeping figure scrawled messily only barely covered by his satin sheets.

The feint hint of a smile slowly crept across his lips. She'd kicked him. Several times in fact. What an idiot, even at her age she slept like a reckless child. Still, it amused him. He saw how the sun shone on her pale skin. Highlighting the curves of her shoulder, dripping down her collar bone, barely caressing the curve of her breast.

Victor found himself reminiscing of holding them within his hands last evening. Recalling the small noises she had made when he rubbed his thumbs across their peaks. He remembered how warm her skin had felt in his palms. A warmth that seemed to tease his now empty and cold hands. The same hand he used last night, he now used to pull the sheets to cover her exposed body. Last thing he needed was this dummy catching a cold.

She shifted again, her arm moving towards him unconsciously. "Victor..." he heard her mutter.

Had he awoken her?

"Yes?" he asked softly. A tone that surprised even he.

"I like..... your pudding..... the best" she mumbled sleepily before readjusting and pulling the blankets down again in her sleep.

Victor shook his head; how did she ever survive unattended? He pulled the sheet once more over her shoulder, this time carefully tucking the soft material under her. Maybe now she'd keep it on. He slowly eased himself out of bed. Surprising himself once again by his own actions. Normally he didn't care if he awoke whoever was laying beside him, but this girl, he didn't dare wake her. Whatever dream she was having included him, and he found himself unwilling to break her out of it.

He walked across to his chest of drawers. Opening the top and pulling out a set of soft silk pajamas. Black of course, because who needed anything colorful to sleep in. He slipped the pants on quickly, disregarding the need for any undergarments. He slipped the shirt on, carefully fastening the buttons one by one, meticulously like almost everything he did. Halfway up, however, he stopped. He looked back to the girl on his bed, surprisingly still wrapped up in the sheets, and undid the buttons. He walked to her side of the bed, and gently lay the shirt upon the headboard. Maybe, just maybe she'd choose to wear it.

He walked out into his normally empty high-rise apartment. The familiar steps to the kitchen as he opened the windows in the living space. The sun greedily taking over the shadows that had laid claim to the place. What a beautiful morning, he found himself thinking. A thought he seldom if ever thought.

Breakfast would definitely be in order. He took strawberries from the basket in the fridge, washing them quickly before getting to work and slicing them thinly. She liked strawberries, right?  What should he make? Normally he would make himself a cup of coffee, perhaps a slice of toast, food rarely a requirement so early in the morning, but today was for someone else.  He thought back to how small and light she was. How soft. How warm. His mind went back again to his hands on her body. How easily his hands had slid up along her hips. The gasp she made when he'd traced his fingertips down her thighs. Or how she looked up at him just before he claimed every inch of her. The wince of pain when he went inside, or the moans she made after every movement of his hips.

The sting of a cut brought him back to reality. He brought his hand up to his lips to ease the sting. How childish, when was the last time he cut himself? One of his first times in the kitchen perhaps, when he had to learn how to cook for himself? He threw the sullied strawberry slices away, moving to the sink to assess the damage he'd done to his finger. How stupid, he'd been distracted, that was a first.

Speaking of first times, he thought back to the now stained sheets on his bed. Sure, she was unexperienced, he expected as such, but her first? A ping of guilt tugged at his insides. He'd never been promiscuous, but he'd enjoyed the company of others before. But her, not her. She'd waited. How cliché, probably waiting for a prince charming to sweep her up from her feet and be her first. Yet here she was, with him.

Idiot, he muttered. More to himself than to her. For someone who hadn't questioned his own value or worth in a very long time, he now found himself questioning if he was worth being her first. Oh, how he wished he was.

He went to the sink and ran water atop his hand.  The knife had slit cleanly into his finger, nothing terrible, but annoying. He chuckled to himself as the blood washed away. It was so strange for him to be distracted, and truth be told he enjoyed it. Even if it came at the expense of his poor finger, he cherished that it was her in his thoughts that had caused it. He'd have to grab a band aid, at least if he intended to continue making breakfast for her.

He made his way back into the bathroom, grabbing the Band-Aids and affixing it to his injury. What would she say if she saw him, the stoic Victor, patching himself up? No later had he thought it, when the her in question sleepily made her way to the bathroom. Sleepily rubbing away at her eyes.

She was wearing his shirt.

"Good mornin'!" she said with a smile looking up at him with bright eyes and goofy grin on her lips.

"Good morning," he replied putting the box of bandages away and cleaning up the sink.

"You are hurt! Oh no! What happened?" he heard her panic. Relishing that she was worrying for him.

"It's nothing." He reassured her. Looking her over.

He couldn't help but laugh, here she was worrying, when she could barely care for herself. The buttons on the shirt were askew as he reached down to correct them. She blushed beautifully.

"Idiot, clearly you know how to dress yourself?" he said, mentally kicking himself. SO many things to say and that's what he could muster?

She made some excuse, rambled about it being soft. His fingers working carefully to correct them. Although a bit of him ached at the task. Each button exposed a little skin, only for him to fasten it back and deprive himself of the warmth. He lingered at the last button, the one just at the chest. He could see her blush still on her cheeks. He thought for a second to just undo all his work and run his lips across her body once more. It was the grumble of her stomach that made him return to the moment.

Hungry? he had asked, leaning in to steal a final kiss before reaching for her hand and bringing her to the kitchen. Her small feet on the floor the only noise he could hear.

"About last night..." he began "did you enjoy it? Are you... alright? I didn't know it was your, first." Victor found himself holding his breath, scared of what she'd say.

"I did," she spoke softly, too flustered and embarrassed to meet his gaze. "A lot. I wouldn't mind..." she cut herself off. Her cheeks burning red, the too long sleeve of Victor's shirt covering her mouth.

"Wouldn't mind what?" he asked as she seemed to burn brighter.

"doing.... It.... I mean. If you want. If it wasn't terrible for you. And if you aren't busy. I mean. We could. And if. But if. Well if...." She rambled away, a thousand thoughts a minute as Victor felt another smile cross his lips.

He leaned in gently, stopping her rambles with his lips against hers.

"I'm not busy at all. You have all of me today." He reassured her, "but first, breakfast."

She smiled back up at him. "Can we have pancakes?" she asked sheepishly.

"Anything for you" he said, more like promised. For at that moment, he'd give her to world, if she only merely asked.