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It started with one drink, just to loosen up. She teased, but truly her eyes were desperate for her partner to ease up. To find respite, something to finally bond over. “You can only have a stick up your ass so long, Zanka.”
It truly did start out innocently, two drinks in. Then there were three, and things shifted unnoticeably to the pair. It was beginning to get dicey, licking the salt rims, staring too long. Irises flickering under the guise of thick eyelashes, drawling across arms. Powerful, toned arms. But musing was one thing.
When they stumbled back, sixth drink in hand, Brie would tell her, her fate was sealed. Maybe when she had leaned in drunkenly, and licked the curve of his ear, asking him to drink her in next. That was probably the turning point, when she thought about it in the morning, head splitting open.
The next two glasses were shared as they snaked their way into Brisa’s room, inching closer to the bed. Legs intertwined, sitting against the edge of the bed, giggling. Zanka’s neck was stretched looking up at the ceiling, head clearly lolling from the weight of drunkenness. The air was nearly electric, his hair growing frizzy from the sweat.
Her gaze stretched across the pale expanse, landing finally on his plump lips. He was so well-manicured, face excellently plush and wet. It gave him a halo, and she imagined ruining the perfection he strived for. Her hands began, greedy, invasive. The nature was just instinct to her. She had now crawled into his lap, desecrating the barrier between them that stayed so strong when sober.
He giggled into the kiss, clearly gaining some semblance of clarity again, and pulled away, cheek pushed into the mattress with eyes wide as globes. “Wait, Brisa, this isn’t right.”
He strained to speak, against his state, against his desire, and against his trousers. Her lips pursed, “I want it, you don’t?”
“Well, I…” He paused, trying to wimp-ishly push her off. His hips drew away, spine curling tightly against the curve of the bed. Trying to regain the space, fighting to put up the wall.
“You do.” Her eyes narrowed, boldly coming closer once again. “Unlike you, I’m not afraid to take what I want.”
The scrappy kiss pushed her against his chest, he was caught between the mattress and her desire. Their lips intertwined, beginning to sloppily unwind the night. His hands met the slope of her waist, feeling around under her uniform almost politely. If it wasn’t for his lack of experience, Brisa would feel offended.
A dark hunger budded in her chest, sparks beginning to burn alive. Their moment seemed to deepen tenfold, stuck in a blackhole of writhing bodies and a new secret. She lost tact, teeth clinking and foreheads butting. Her hands had risen to the crown of his head, grasping onto his hair and pulling his head back again the mattress for access to his neck. The bite ignited a yelp, and out crawled a heinous moan. She was tempted to kiss his mouth on top of the moan, harness that feeling, but kept diving down onto that perfect untouched skin. Leaving rows of purple kisses, he would be unable to burrow back within himself tomorrow morning.
A series of sounds she had only dreamed of croaked in her ear, whimpers, and finally a plead that had her fumbling for more. He was reaching for his pants, now clearly hard and pressing against her. She huffed, pressing against him again, halting his hands, “What are you doing?”
“I, I thought…” He sounded so pathetic, eyes betrayed. She pulled his hands up by the wrist, clenching. Brisa laid a kiss upon his hand, eyes locked onto his. “Noooo, no, Zanka. Not that. Not right now.”
He collapsed weakly, deflating infront of her. She stood slowly, off the plush of the rug. His red, sweaty face had drawn downward to his chest, hands laid out awkwardly in his lap, erection barely covered. Even drunk, rejection stung. Especially when intimacy had been placed so perfectly before him, without inhibition to deny it. His lips squeezed together, unable to process the time passing. Until he heard a zipper.
Mischievously she pulled down her shorts, eyes lit by the moon slinking into the room slowly, their only audience. He turned his head, cheek against the mattress, back straightening. He was fighting between pouting and trying to look uninterested. That was until she began to slowly, temptingly pull her panties. The waistband was tugged, teasingly, thumbs hooking under the bottom seam and inching down.
He was confused, but clearly entranced as she stepped forward. Her hips began to draw near to his face and finally he had to lean his head back onto the bed to keep eye contact. He thrummed with excitement and fear, worrying that if he looked away the moment would cease to exist. She cooed, “Perfect.”
He only understood once her knee had hiked up to the side of his face, resting the other close to his opposite ear. Brisa’s hands positioned themselves on the bed, lowering her hips down at first slowly. His nose bumped clumsily against her clit, eliciting a moan and breaking the guise of foreplay. She drew back, rubbing against his lips, his plush moisturized lips. Ruining that damn straight face, what a dream. And surprisingly he sucked, circling, eager to please with little experience and shaking hands.
The pleasure locked her down, his face fully suffocated by only one thing. His hands shot up, wildly squeezing at her bare thighs. She could feel every sigh, every whimper vibrate against her core. He begged for her to rock against him, murmuring sweet nothings as he tried to keep up. The wetness began to pave a pace for her hips, smashing against his nose and greedy tongue which was wildly searching for her undoing. He never pushed her away, or pulled her up. His breathing was entirely subjective to her, and all he could do was huff into her delicious cunt, sucking everything he could.
Her hands scrambled to his scalp, crying out deliciously and craning her head. She was beginning to rut against his face. The bucking was met with more moans, electric pleasure building. Her thighs began to tremble, unable to control her pelvis which jutted in and out without any particular rhythm. Chasing her high was the one thing on her mind, winding up tight into that spiral of pristine debauchery. Her stomach knotted up after his tongue had found an unforgiving pace against her clit. Almost crying out, slick spilled across his face, dirtying him up from nose to chin. He continued to lick, hungry for more of her. She chased her high for a bit, riding it out against her nose before finally easing up, finding herself slack after the orgasm.
Dribbling spit, shiny with cum and pleasure, she moved to allow him some breathing room. He seemed to huff disappointedly which was amusing for someone who was a virgin. She couldn’t break him in just yet, his eagerness exciting her for what was next in the future. She decided, teasing this once was the best way to get what she wanted later. She sat beside his head, twitching slightly from the orgasm.
She gazed down at him, smiling gently. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling almost peacefully. Her fingers twirled around his hair once again, this time tender. Her desire was quelled shortly, finding a time to fondly glance upon him. His lips were puffy and swollen and breaths struggled to follow. She smirked, satisfied with the end result of her probing. Thank god she made him get drunk with her. She slid down, sitting next to him.“If you’d be so kind as to unbutton your pants…”
She waited a few seconds, surprised he did not immediately lunge as she expected any guy to. Her eyebrows furrowed, starting to feel flushed, not just from the sex. “Hellloooo?”
His breathing was rhythmic, she realized. He had fallen asleep. The fucker. Her eye almost twitched, readying to wake him up with another, even more relentless fuck. But then it hit her. She was six drinks down, at one in the morning. Just orgasmed so hard she thought her ancestors probably felt it. She was due for slamming out any minute now. She crawled onto her bed, feeling that Zanka had made his in the uncomfortable position on the floor. She had no requirement to tuck him in, did she? But, tenderly, against her better judgement, she laid him down so his neck wouldn’t be… even more sore in the morning.
Thank the sphere for one thing. Shitty whisky, she thought before dozing.