| |
Ante Up
by michelleann68
Leaning back, I rub my hands over his back, I can't get enough contact. I look behind me, judging the best way to get to the bed and walk behind Greg. Giving him a little push, I guide him around to the side of the bed. His eyes are closed and his walk a little slow; the Vicodin is kicking in. A little pressure on his hips, he turns, bends over, pulls back the comforter, and sits on the edge. His cane drops to the ground and he sets the Vicodin on the nightstand. I prop his cane up against the nightstand; knowing he will need easy access. I start to undress him. My fingers hook into his belt loops and feel the rough denim graze my fingers. Sliding my fingers into the waistband, I ease the button through the small opening and free it. Leaning over, I place my hands on the edge of the bed, and kiss him. His lips open to my mouth and I almost lose my balance in the intensity and passion that builds in this one kiss. His hand rises up and he pulls me closer. His hand traces a path up my back to the base of my neck and holds me in place.
My hand makes it's way to his neck in order to hold him in place. Pressing my lips to his, I take control, encouraging him to let go, and let me in. His mouth surrenders to me and I feel his body relax into the kiss. My tongue sweeps in and surveys the now familiar territory. My fingers dig into his longus capitis and travels up into his scalp. I feel little knots of tension and do my best to dissolve them. I work my way over to the lateral pterygoid and enjoy the action that is created as our mouths meet and our jaws work, feeling the muscle expand and contract under my fingers.
Our mouths fight for dominance, my arms keep me hovering over him, my feet firmly on the ground. I want to be gentle. I need to be rough. Breaking the kiss, I kneel in front of him. Almost face-to-face, I look at him. His eyes are not quite clear, but I see he is with me. I bend forward and work my way down his chest. Kisses mark my journey. I reach his nipple. Pausing, I stroke it to life with my tongue, grazing the hard peak with my teeth. His body arches up into my mouth trying to increase the contact. I tease and move my mouth away. He grunts in dissatisfaction, and I smile. I want him to need this, to need me. Being desired is such a turn on; tonight I want to be desired. I flatten my tongue to his chest and feel his body squirm and direct the progress. Wet, sloppy kisses mark the journey as I lower myself down to his hips.
I arch my back searching for more contact, because I want to feel him pressed into me, smell him, and make him cry out with need. I am the one needing the contact now. His teasing plays with me and increases my desire. I rest back on my elbows, giving me a view of his brown floppy hair working its way down my stomach. His head moves side to side not leaving any part of my chest untouched. My skin glistens in the blue light that is cast in the room. I feel alive.
I dig my tongue into the space below the waistband, leaving little bites across his hips. His erection is evident now standing against his jeans. I unzip his pants, and tip back on my heels. I pull his pants and boxers to his knees in one swift movement, as he arches his hips in assistance. I am aware of his leg and try to get his pants off without bringing attention to it. Over compensating, I fall back in a heap on the floor.
I feel him fall away and hear the crash. He has never been the most graceful of men. Cracking an eye open I make sure that he is okay. I smile and stare. Damn, he has a beautiful mouth. I catch myself some days just watching his lips curl into a smile; or turn down when he concentrates. Until this moment, I never appreciated the talent he held in that amazing combination of teeth, tongue and lips. He drags his teeth over my calf and I groan into the pleasure. I am enjoying the contact, the connection, and the bond that tightens between us.
Blindly placing one hand on the bed, I work myself back up to my knees. Laving attention on his kneecap, I thrust my tongue into the space behind his knee and he extends his leg allowing me greater access. I scrape my teeth along the back of his kneecap and he groans and thrusts himself forward. His legs fall open. I work my free hand between my legs. I squeeze my erection, distracting me a little and decreasing my immediate need. I find my zipper and fumble with the button, finally working it free. Running both of my hands up his thighs, I stand up and my pants fall to the floor, and I step out of them and into the vee of Greg's legs. Not wanting to lose contact but at the same time wanting to be naked, stretched out on the bed, I compete with myself as to the next course of action. Leaning over I press kisses to his chest as I reach around and pull off one sock then the next. The next part will be a little more difficult. I look down at my boxers. "Oh, shit!" Why did I wear the Pinky and the Brain boxers, I am never going to hear the end of it. I look up him. I'm caught. He smiles. Pulling off his socks, I then work off my boxers and with the little dignity I have left and use my foot to push them under the bed. Greg shifts and moves his body fully up, and lays down.
I am certainly not going to kick him out of bed based on boxer selection. James is such a dichotomy, confident doctor and shy man. I lay back against one of my down pillows, sinking my head into the feathers. I stretch out my body and feel a gentle pull in my quadriceps and in Semispinalis thoracis, feeling my body straighten out. The immediate ache in my leg suppressed.
I lay down next to him, propped on my side and trail my hand down his torso. He turns and smiles a slow and seductive smile. I lean in and kiss him. His arm pulls me onto him and I settle my self in between his legs. I nestle my head into his shoulder and is hands rub, caress and sculpt my back. I rub my hands down his sides, and against his protests, I push myself up. Hovering there, I look down. I feel a rush of emotions. Emotions I have not felt in so long, I seem to have forgotten. I want to rush to feel my body release, to feel his skin come alive under my hands. I want to go slow to savor every touch, every smell, every movement, to live in this haze away from everything. Away from all the things that adds bricks to his walls, and that push me away from humanity and deeper into isolation. Where I am safe from pain, safe from love, and safe from disappointment. He smiles as if reading my mind; I wouldn't assume he doesn't. I smile, a real smile.
His smile does light up the room. It disarms me; I am not sure what I have done to warrant that smile. For so many years, I have watched James die, bit-by-bit, year-by-year. He does what is expected, not what he wants. He struggles and fights to put on a brave face, to be the go to guy, but part of him, the best part in some way, gets lost. He extends himself to help others to carry their burden, which only buries his burdens deeper.
Our mouths meet and join, a unity created in this small intimate space. The intimacy is real, it is tangible. I think if I reached out I could touch it, caress it. I sit up to get some air and to slow this down. Straddling his hips, I firmly cast a vote to make this go-slow. I look at him, he understands and closes his eyes and relaxes. Taking his hand, I press my lips to the center of his wrist and scrape my teeth across it, enjoying the feeling of his pulse, the existence of life, against my lips. I savor his fingers, slowly tasting each one, memorizing the structure, the feeling and the strength they possess.
His mouth sucks on my fingers and sensation sends shockwaves across my body and to my groin. I let him have this time; I close my eyes to enjoy this, to feel him love me. I can hear the blood rushing through my body, it feels like a tornado, pulsing and grinding coursing through my body. My body arches and my free hand grabs the sheets. The energy and the heat are overwhelming and I groan, push, and encourage. I fight the urge to rush, to reach the end.
I press his hand to my chest, right over my heart, so he can feel the life that is restored in these captured moments. My fingers follow his Adductor pollicis from his thumb to his wrist. Then they dig into his Brachioradialis in a circular movement. As I work up his forearm, I first use my fingers then my whole hand, making slow progress towards his elbow. I use my fingers to rub and press trying to erase the tension. The doctor in me makes sure things are in running order; always analyzing. The friend in me is determined to make him feel good, to push him to experience something beyond pain. His arm goes slack against me. He relaxes, with a deep sigh. I lay his hand down and pick up the next one.
I feel him reach over for the other arm. If I do not assert control now I am going to lose this battle. He will be the giver, not the receiver. I reach up with my functioning arm and bring it up to his face, slowly stroking, putting the care I feel into it. I slide my hand to the side of his neck. His neck is warm and his hair is damp. I urge him to lie on his side. To stretch out next to me so I can give.
A nervous flutter opens up in me and some of the old defense mechanisms begin to rear themselves. I feel him turn towards me, his gaze unnerving me. It has been a long time since anyone has looked at me, studied me. I start to grow self conscious, the old triggers switched. Am I attractive to him? Does he find me desirable? Can he go through with this? I need this more then I want to admit to myself. More then I would tell anyone. All my life I have wanted some one who just wanted me, just desired me, not the expensive education or prestigious job. I shouldn't need his approval but, in some ways, I do. The touch is lighter then I expect. Just a light dusting and gentle drag of finger tips. The sensation starts on my left knee. I close my eyes. Slowly the warmth builds as he moves up. A gentle drag followed by little scratches, it ignites me and hips convulsively buck. I press my body deeply into the mattress.
He needs to look like this more often, completely lost, debauched. I look at him, my best friend, the one person who knows me and it is a wonder we are even here. Both of us burned, hurt, judged more times then we want to count. Nevertheless, here for a few hours all wounds are healed, all hurts repaired, nothing exists before or after this time. If only it could be this way, but we both have too many scars to heal. Maybe, the healing will start tonight.
I toss my head back and stifle the moan that tries to escape. I don't want to add any noise to this beautiful symphony created by our breathing and the sounds of body parts gliding together. It is a sweet song, a comforting song. Any new noise might change the tempo. I want to sustain this pace. I need to feel him feast on me before I devour him. His hand makes it to my hip and I struggle to not lose control. His slow steady touching rubbing and is nurturing me back to life. My eyes close. I keep myself trapped and a little protected. I can feel his gaze on me; his hands avoid my erection and travel up my stomach. He drags all four fingers up my torso in a lazy pattern. I am reminded of modern art. I have never been a fan, but I like this. I can see the paint on my body as he drags his fingers trough it, adding color to my black and white existence. His fingers graze my nipple commanding it to life. I arch and this time the sensation too sharp, too sudden, it brings a moan or more likely a gasp. His fingers are suddenly gone. Before I am able to mourn the loss, warm wet lips cover my nipple and soon tiny bites are dropped on to my skin. Warmth spreads out from the source and in my mind's eye a red flush joins the vibrate paint as my sweat slick body is resuscitated. Greg moves his mouth littering my body with kisses. He leaves scratches along the path and I feel like I am rapidly approaching a climax, my body is on fire. I need a respite, I want this to continue and not have it over before it even starts.
It is nice to watch his body spring to life, incoherent with pleasure. I want to hear him moan, proof that I can give him something. The room is flooded with the sounds of our breath and the gentle squeak of our bodies as they slide in unison and pick up a tempo of their own. Both of us are too silent. That's the fear, the fear of showing we are human, of feeling, truly feeling pleasure since we surround ourselves with so much pain. We take great big gulps of pain and follow it with denial.
I shift away and I feel the weight on the bed redistribute. His torso hovers over me and his hips are pressed into mine. I feel the heat radiate between us. I open my eyes still not sure of what reaction to expect. His eyes look heavy and a little dazed. I look past his shoulder and down his back taking in his smooth body. His entire body glistens in the blue light that bathes the bed. "Move-up" comes out of his mouth as more of a demand then an actual suggestion. Our bodies' shift in unison, he lifts up and I move up higher against the headboard and grab a spare pillow to help prop me up. I bend forward and lick the sweat from his shoulder taking this opportunity to kiss his neck. I lean back and he moves forward to kiss me. His lips work against mine, his tongue battles mine for small bits of territory. I raise my hands to his face and hold his head, noting his damp curls clinging to my fingers. I massage his scalp and feel the energy build in the room, the heat that rises between us. I see colors swirling around us wrapping us in a bright hue. He pulls away and an audile pop separates our mouths. We are again two people. His gentle soft lips contrast the rough scratchy beard, as he makes his way down my chest. I want to wrap my legs around his hips and press him into me, to fuse our bodies together, wrap my arms around him and pull some of his strength into me. Before I can act, I am distracted and push my head back hard against the leather headboard, my body pushing up to meet his mouth. His lips fasten on to my other nipple. A quick bite and then his tongue surges against the hard peak, pressing it and sending rays of electricity down my body. The intensity and the pace quicken. He completes the descent on my body and slides his warm, wet, and attentive mouth over my hard penis.
His erection awaits me. I grab it at the root to hold it up. I rub my thumb along the side, his hips involuntarily move into the sensation. I rub my lips over the crown and gently suck on it; slowly opening my mouth, I slide it in, feeling the ridges and veins. My tongue traces the helmet, and rubs the ridge. I feel a drag on the sheets and know he is gripping them, holding on, I just want him to let go. I bathe his cock in my saliva and use one hand to stroke him and pull him. Enjoying the weight in my mouth, tasting the very essence of him. I slowly start to pick up the pace and I dip my thumb to his perineum, gently rubbing.
I begin to lose coherent thought and my body starts the short journey towards climax. I act to stop the march. I want to ravage his body the same way he has mine. I shake my head and my hair falls forward. I stop. I see his brown wavy hair, he is propped up on one leg, and his damaged leg is stretched out behind him. He rests on one elbow and I watch his mouth work me over, short quick strokes, long hard strokes all working to bring me to the edge to offer me the opportunity for release and one moment where nothing matters and everything is aligned in the universe. I'm not ready; I want to extend this, to carry on, to treat his body with the reverence he has given me. His tongue flips against the crown of my erection and I decide it is time to switch positions. Leaning forward, I loop my hands through his arms and pull him up. He looks up at me a little dazed and very confused. I smile; I really like seeing him like this, disheveled and a little wanton. I pull him towards me, making sure he is following along so he does not bang his leg against anything. He turns so he is flat on his back. His eyes open and he looks at me. I'm too nervous to see what they say, I close mine bend forward and kiss each of his eyes gently closed. Lying next to him, my voice barely a whisper I tell him my plans. I slowly open my eyes, see the smile on his face, and it tells me he has no problem with this change of plan.
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|