December 18: Cliche Pt. 13

[kinetic_elaboration]

More of my Tom/Daria fic, previous parts on the tag ‘cliche’

740 words, 25 minutes

Very, VERY explicit, okay?

*

 

For the first time, the desire she feels is not for closeness, for some sort of tentative, careful intimacy, or even for pleasure, but instead it’s the desire to have and to consume. It swells up in her, a towering wave. It fills her, and it seeps out of her, this desire, in a low and aching moan. She hears the noise from her own mouth like it’s a distant sound, someone else’s sound but all her own wanting. She forces her eyes to stay open as she stares down at Tom’s back and the bareness of his skin and the outline of his muscles, and the shape of him as he disappears under the privacy of her skirt. The taut, tense, trying, yearning in him.

His tongue is still laving against her, licking stripes against her clit. He’s so persistent, she would say even forceful but it seems the wrong word, because that force would bend to her will if she so much as hinted it. She bends her head a little lower, traces again the outline of his erection, visible beneath the fabric of his zipped up and buttoned up pants. He hasn’t touched himself at all. He hasn’t even asked; he hasn’t even mentioned. 

If she asked him, would he keep licking and tonguing and rubbing his fingers against her until she came, and still not mention it, and still not ask for any bit of pleasure for himself?

Does he think she wants to ignore it? That she’s scared of it, maybe? 

And maybe she has been, or at least embarrassed and uncertain, skittish at her own inexperience despite his patience, when she’d feel him against her leg and draw back, almost despite herself, catch his eyes gleaming in the dark of the backseat of her car. And she’d see herself from the outside and feel herself like some kind of cliche, and a failure of one at that. But the idea of him, hard for her and aching in whatever his version of this aching is, trips her up less now. Because he’s down on his knees for her.

He’d do anything for her.

She pushes with gentle insistence at his shoulder, pushes him back, and murmurs a quiet, “Wait a minute” to make him stop. He does, immediately, and then after a moment pulls away and sits up straight again, reappearing disheveled and red in the face from underneath her skirt. His mouth and the tip of his nose shine with her own wetness. Her face feels red and hot already, and another surge of warmth and wanting comes over when she looks at him like that.

“Are you okay?” he manages, barely, his voice rough.

She squeezes his shoulder, nods, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Admirable, how he all but hides the disappointment in his voice.

She shakes her head. His brow furrows, lightly, and she realizes she has to catch her breath and find her words faster than she has been, has to somehow explain what it is that she wants.

“I like it,” she promises, first. 

Tom wipes at his mouth with the back of his wrist. He’s staring up at her still, his knees spread apart like he’s steadying himself, balancing himself, and his eyes are wide and expectant and waiting. She lets her gaze trace down him slowly. Something in her throat feels scratched and dry and large, and she swallows hard to try to force it down. “I want to see you,” she says then, all in a rush. “All of you.”

For a second, perhaps, he doesn’t understand. Then he does: she can tell because his gaze drops down. Perhaps it’s just shock, or a reasonable embarrassment; she hesitates around the question: has she crossed over a line? Then he tries the slightest hint of a smile. “I guess that’s fair,” he answers quietly.

He has, in a way, seen some very intimate parts of her. 

Daria clenches her hands into fists at the sides of her skirt. She doesn’t rush him, and maybe because he’s been so long on his knees, he gets back up to his feet slowly, like he’s testing out his limbs. Now that he’s standing, he can’t see any more of her than can anyone, her classmates, people on the street. She has her armor back on. She licks delicately across her lips as she trains her eyes on him.