Keeping Warm

...How did you ever end up in this scenario, you wonder? "Oh right, he offered to make that drink, the root beer float, with the Bailey's. And the stargazing. And the hot tub. That was actually really good..."

You relax lower, and his left arm crosses your shoulder. It's chilly above the water, so you're both staying as low as possible. You don't remember the stars being this bright, most times. Of course, you had to turn out all the lights, this time. You lost that bet... So you're both skinny dipping.

Your heartbeat is just a little quicker than usual, as you realize he's giving you a smirk out of the corner of your eye. He thinks you don't notice, except the moon just barely caught it, as it cracks the treeline.

"I'm going to try something" he says. He doesn't seem to be asking. The hand behind your shoulder scoops you forward, off the bench to the middle of the tub. You make a noise, but catch yourself. Under your thighs you feel his right arm, and you find yourself almost floating to the surface, in his arms. The mischief grin is still there. What is he doing? He looks down your pale length. Measuring. You're momentarily self conscious. Is he ogling you? You feel the pang of cold.

"You suck! Put me back in, it's almost freezing out here!" ...He's lifted you just enough, your nipples leave the safety of the water. Damn, he definitely noticed... They're tight and hard, it's borderline painful.

He kisses your forehead. "I know..." kisses your nose. "I'm a brat..." finally, kisses your lips, lingering. The hand under your leg gives way, and you're resting across his knee. The free hand brushes across your breasts, soothing the chilled bits. His voice softly in your ear, as much a breath as a sound: "But I'll make it up to you..." You can't see. And yet you know he's smiling, ear to ear.

"The snow is starting again, we might want to retreat inside" he suggests, eyeing the door to the bedroom. Those blankets do sound warm. You eye the robes draped over the bench, but you're reluctant to get up, the water is so much warmer than the air. He sees your hesitance, takes a breath, and heaves up and out, the dim light of one moon... upon another. Cute. Muscular. You watch as he retrieves your respective robes, shrugs his on, hands you yours. Your hands are shaking, and you notice your mistake at the last possible moment. You're left holding the belt of the robe, and the rest of it falls completely into the tub, and now soaking wet.

"Fuck!"
 You've underestimated how quick he is on his feet though, as he takes half of his robe off, and tells you "climb on my back, and hold tight!" You leap from the water and piggyback, your front warm, your back exposed. He reaches up and over, putting his robe OVER both of you, and bundling you in together. As a final flourish, he closes the hot tub, snatches the wet robe in one motion, and lopes for the door. You never noticed just how hot he runs, how is he not also freezing? "I sort of ALWAYS have an internal fire going on. Got a silly nickname out of it and everything" Shit, you must have said something out loud. When did that happen? You're blushing into the dark. He squeezes your thighs to hike you up, and continues the same loping pace to the bathroom, for a hot shower, and a place to hang the robes.

The bathroom is safe and warm, it takes mere seconds for him to run the hot water, although you're wondering if he's noticed you're still riding bareback. Somehow it's not slowing him down. You relent and slip off when he pulls the first arm out of the warm robe, and slide back to the ground. He offers a silent "after you" arm wave, into the shower. He follows a moment later, not a moment of doubt or hesitation. One flip of a switch later and you have to appreciate the dual showerhead, rescuing you from the age old relationship squabble of who's hogging all the hot water. He notices you noticing again. How does he keep doing that?

He draws you in, pulls you right to him. "Tonight has been perfect: I blame you entirely. What are you going to do about it?" he jokes.


"I suppose... clean up my act?" You play along. You're rewarded with a beaming grin. He gestures the "wait one" finger, and grabs the body wash. He reaches right past the loofah, ignoring it, drizzles it on his own chest, and embraces you. You notice his chest hair is lathering up the solution, causing him to be a human sized loofah. This feels... amazing. He's teasing you and for all practical intents and purposes, seems himself relatively unaffect- ...Spoke too soon. You feel a new pressure near your navel, and your eyes meet. There's no question THAT's caused by the intimacy of your touch. You decide to play this out a while longer, first. "If you're working up such a lather, could you scrub my back?" You say, turning around, making sure to slide against him, never breaking contact for a moment. He becomes an instant big-spoon, not only scrubbing your back in kind, but as his hands begin to alternate supporting and exploring your breasts, he whispers breathily in your ears, "I thought you'd never ask."

He reaches past you, and grabs the shampoo bottle, fills a palm with it, and returns with it. You feel your hair gathered, stroked, infused, and lathered in turn. His fingers run through your hair time after time, and as the repetitive strokes draw your head back, you feel him grazing on your earlobe, nibbling gently at your sensitive extremity with a soft tongue and lips. As his hands alternate strokes through your mane, one deviates, and alights beneath your chin, cradling your throat, as the other crosses your chest, supportively, and intimately all at once.

You glance through the glass door, and realize this whole display reflects in the mirror. You can see all of yourselves, water cascading down and between yourselves, steam rising, head captive and in the midst of being devoured, greedily. The last of the cleaners rinse out, and he turns you back around. When did he gain the ability to look at you so... hungrily? So much like a predator? You're utterly sure you're going to get devoured at this point, and the thought surfaces briefly "Isn't it about time, though? I've abstained long enough. Yes! Yes, let's enjoy life, now and forevermore." Your focus returns and you find yourself in the throes of a hungry, exploring kiss, tongues heated and agitating, fencing a duel with no loser. You briefly open an eye and catch sight of the mirror, your nails clinging onto his shoulder, against the possibility of falling. You're pretty sure you're falling anyways.

"Want to hear the world's best pickup line?" He taunts.

That damned magnetic grin again.
"Now??" You give him a worried look.


"Only works now." You shrug. He reaches completely around you, and there's a strong hand on each cheek of your ass. You're lifted bodily into the air, and reflexively wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders.
"Oh!" you blush. "Ohhhh..." again, as you realize he's lowering you... onto him. Some pickup line.

As you feel him entering you, you gently bite his shoulder, which gets inadvertently harder when he leans you against the wall for better purchase. You hadn't even realized you were this wet. Must be the shower.

You decide that's enough letting him drive... as it were... and your hand reaches around his head, pulling close. The kiss you share while entangled and writhing is intense. You feel your ears flush... Among more sensitive, and immediate areas. God, that feels like water after roaming the desert. Euphoria and safe harbor, all at once. The kiss no longer enough for his hunger, he shifts his weight, puts one leg on the tub rim, the kisses reach your cheek, your ear...


"You taste divine" he purrs gently, directly into your ear, "and I could spend the rest of my waking days exploring this. You." The voice directly under your ear has taken on a borderline supernatural ability to make you quiver. His breath, electric. "But I need to know before the rest of this..." Several rhythmic thrusts, you bounce in ways he clearly can't keep his eyes off of... "How the REST of you tastes. I absolutely CRAVE ...this."

He withdraws from you, kneels. One of your legs reaches the ground. He's still holding the other. Puts it over his shoulder. A hand is on the small of your back. It goes between your legs, to get there. He's kissing your lips. Parting them. You hear him inhale slowly, deeply, virtually the sheer vacuum of space must be going through his mind, as he devours, digests, distills your essence within his mind. He looks up at you. His eyes feral as his tongue does at least two different things you had no idea it could do. There's still that same damned mischievous smile at the corner, even though you can't see his mouth. You can definitely feel it.

When the first orgasm releases you and the twitching dies down, he draws his head back, gently wipes the falling shower water off his face along with your own lubricant. He gently reaches for your razor, and the self-assuredness BARELY overtakes your objection. He makes calm, measured strokes, smoothing the easiest portions almost at once, and then strokes your mons, your lips, providing for a runway wide enough to toy with a safety razor. He switches your raised leg for your lowered one, with a steadying hand, and another hungry kiss, straight down the middle.

This feels as much like meal prep... cooking, as it does, sex. 'Perhaps there's a good reason for that' you think, noting that you've both partaken in an appetizer, just now. He tidies up by firmly grasping each cheek, turning you, (and kissing them in turn) and performing the final cleaning strokes with the precision of a surgeon or a barber.

You never noticed blade-handling as a skill that turned your head before, despite that one year in high school... Never mind. He draws your attention back to the here-and-now, sliding a finger 'around the world', from testing the smooth mound, straight back to your ass-crack, ending by gently cupping one cheek, and slowly he releases you to stand while he shuts off the water.

You find yourself facing the glass door, about to slide it open, when he gently presses a hand on the small of your back, and you make a "fog angel" imprint in the glass: arms, a pair of tits, some of your face, and a light touch of belly and thighs before it goes down past view. He kisses the side of your neck again, joins you in looking out into the mirror, and purrs "beautiful." You flush, slightly.

You each reach for a towel. You manage to pick the same one, and as it's oversized, he spins you both together into it, face to face, chest to chest. A highly intimate burrito. He's clearly enjoying this... Have we mentioned that damned mischievous smile? You manage to get dried off, just in time to reach the bedroom. Snow now coming down on the windows so thickly, you have nothing but perfect privacy. You send him to light the wood stove, he sends you to put the towel across the bottom of the bed.

By the flickering and crackling of the fire, and no other light, you drink in the curves and shadows across each others faces and bodies. You don't remember backing up, and yet the bed has miraculously appeared, to simultaneously take your legs out from under you, and catch you gently. He pursues you, parts your thighs with a soft stroke. You both fiercely want this, and you can see the effort he's putting in, to pace himself. Several last kisses, and a strong nuzzling on your neck, and he can resist no longer. Your sensations are immediately and overwhelmingly: being filled, but also the smell of mild soap competing with light sweat, smoky fireplace, and a hint of your own smell, still lingering on his lips.

He works deeply and slowly, and you feel a new sort of demand from your body, a need most uncommon. As the tempo slowly increases, you recall that you have some control here. As you clench your lower muscles, you feel him react in kind.

One hand behind your head and one hand behind your back, he's doing his level best to exist entirely in the same space as you. As the tempo rises to a crescendo, you simultaneously reach a climax, nearly crushing each other, and then subsiding into stillness.

Slipping stray hairs behind your ear, he whispers into it between earlobe nibbles "d'you suppose it's too soon to say I love you?"

"You ask if it's too soon AFTER...that?" You blush.

"Sex and love: It's a Venn diagram. It's just best in the middle... right here." He boops your belly button.

"Not too soon. Also, I... didn't have time for any protection just then."

"Me either. Also, I know." The grin looks even more impish by firelight. "Do we strike each other as being averse to taking risks?"

You DO feel the spark of a thrill... "I suppose not!"

"Well then, happy Valentine's Day. Can I keep you?"

You don't say a word. The kisses say all you ever could.