Little Things Ch. 02 of 04

My heart sparks faster as he leans in, his weight now partially on top of me. Solid. Real. The scent of his body heavy in my consciousness, a fragrance quietly masculine, like sandalwood and new-mown hay. God, when did he get so...so earthly? So physical. Until these last few days I hardly even noticed he had a body. Now it's a constant presence in my mind, an inescapable awareness. A pull, like iron to a magnet.

He's paused again, inches away from me, but it doesn't look like his usual nervousness. Half a smile on his lips, the left side crinkled up in softly self-conscious amusement, joy...he looks so damned adorable when he really smiles. His powder blue eyes dancing on my features. His mouth parts to speak, his head shaking ever so slightly. "You're beautiful, Samantha."

I laugh once, lightly. No, I'm not. But it feels good to hear him say it. "Guess you're getting the hang of what to say on a date, anyway." Soft, with a bit of a smirk.

Then he's moving forward, and I close my eyes, hold my breath, my lips barely parted. Astonishment, somewhere in the back of my mind, at how much I want this, at the hunger for his touch that pounds in my heart. My nerves quiver at the sensation of his lips not quite brushing upon my skin, close enough to feel his breath as it emerges warm and moist from his lungs. Slowly moving up, until at last he lays a gentle kiss upon my forehead, a bloom of delight radiating outwards from the point of contact. Laughing again, as the wave of almost giddiness sweeps through me.

I'm not surprised when he holds to the limitations I've set, pulls back after just a second has passed. But he doesn't entirely retreat. Instead his lips drift back down, touching once and again for brief moments upon my skin. On the bridge of my nose. On my cheek, beneath my eye. Then on my mouth, and I feel again the electric crackle of contact, inhaling his breath. My tongue sneaking out to taste of his lips as simmering heat trickles down through my center. The tickling of arousal at my chest. God, I just want...

Time, again. He stops, pulls away, and as his lips leave mine I struggle with a little stab of regret. Wishing that it didn't have to end, not yet. But it's swept away as my eyes open and my gaze falls upon his small and cutely nervous smile. Hope and worry dancing back and forth in his expression. "Did you, um..." He speaks, softly. "Was it okay?"

I have to laugh, shake my head - he can tell it's not a denial. "Now where did you learn to kiss like that, Davey?" I murmur, a bright current of joy shining from my voice.

His gaze darts shyly away, but I can see the corners of his mouth shoot wide in a delighted grin. "I dunno. It just kinda felt like the right thing to do." His eyes wander sheepishly back. "I mean...feels like forever I've wanted to kiss you like that. I just didn't really think I'd ever get the chance."

He's resting on his side now, next to me, while I still lay on the bed - I send up a hand to quest the path of his body, starting lightly clasped at his jawline, tracing down his neck, his chest... "You know," my voice playfully teasing, "If this were a real date, that would sound awfully stalkerish. Major 'don't.' You're not supposed to let on that you felt anything before you made your move." My hand pauses at his stomach, fingers tracing at his abdominal muscles. "What else have you wanted to do?"

"Uh, well." A touch of cold panic suddenly flashes in his eyes, strains in his voice. "I don't, um. Nothing. Or, you know, not nothing, but - we can't, you said, so it doesn't matter." And all at once, he's lifting away, sitting upright on his knees instead of laying beside me. I feel a faint loss in the separation. Pressing too hard...

Ah, David. "Embarrassing, huh?" I give him a crooked grin. "There's a difference between talking about it and actually doing it, you know. I'm curious." My eyes rest on his, lightly expectant. "You're not going to shock me. I know there's more in guys' heads than just hugs and kisses."

"Still, though." He shakes his head, averts his gaze in faint chagrin. "You don't wanna hear..."

"I'm telling you right now that I do." Raising an eyebrow pointedly, I hit him with a fairly coercive stare. A silence, his to fill. And he tries, I'll give him that - his lips parting between crimson cheeks, sounding the beginning notes of words. Striving to speak. But the seconds pass with little progress, and he shakes his head again, lets go a brief laugh, nervous and apologetic. His eyes falling to the bedcovers, seeking the floor.

Maybe I shouldn't be surprised. "I guess we never talked much about sex stuff, did we?" Greater sympathy in my words, now, allowing him this way out.

"Not really." His voice relieved, grateful at the slight shift of topic. "Um. I guess you always told me when you went out to the overlook with one of your boyfriends, but...I kinda tried to avoid the subject." A self-conscious smile flickering on his lips.

"You shouldn't," I remark quietly. My hand laying limp now at his chest. "I mean, not because of me specifically, but just...you need to be able to talk about it. Tell a girl what you like, all that."

His shoulders rise in a half-hearted shrug, and as they do, a notion begins to take root in my mind. Maybe I can actually do some good for him with this game, this fantasy, whatever you want to call it. Get him used to what it's like, to be in a physical relationship with someone. Get him past some of his hangups. Once we're done with this, once he's found someone real...it'd help him, if he could speak his mind a little more freely.

"Let's practice." A bit of a smirk. I can start small. "How often do you masturbate?"

"What?" David sputters, taken aback, his eyes nervously shocked. "I'm...I don't..."

"You don't masturbate?" My eyebrow lifts, skeptically amused. Yeah, right. All guys do.

"Well..." He swallows awkwardly, his face a study in scarlet. "Okay, yeah. I do. But that's-"

"So how often?" I interrupt, press the point, peering at him inquisitively. "Every day, every other day?" As a question to stretch his comfort zone, I think it's a good one. And I feel myself a certain fascination, beside, to know the answer. But his response is sadly expected. A long silence, a shake of the head. An apologetic quirk of the lips. 'Sorry. Too much,' spoken without words.

I'm not going to let him off the hook that easily, though. Not for this - we're supposed to talk, supposed to tell each other everything, that's who we are. I mean, yeah, until right now 'everything' didn't quite extend to the finer points of self-pleasure, but...still. "How about this." A bargaining tone. "I'll answer the questions first. Then you have to." The quiet of a few moments. "So, how often for me...probably about once a week, on average."

A pause. "Really?" His voice has just that touch of breathlessness - intrigued, while trying not to sound like it. And funny, the sparkle of satisfaction in my heart, hearing his interest.

"What, were you expecting more often? Or less?" A bit of teasing in my tone.

"I wasn't really expecting..." He hesitates a time, shrugs. "I don't know."

Seconds tick by again, in silence. I have to remind him of his responsibilities. "So?" Prodding him lightly with my knee. "How about you?"

"I..." He bites his lip, breathes out slowly through his nose. Trying to collect himself. Or, perhaps, to lose a bit of the blush that's filling every square inch of his face. "Jeez. I mean...maybe every three or four days. I guess." He looks away as he says it - but afterward, his eyes dart to mine. Trying to gauge my reaction.

"There. Not so hard, is it?" An encouraging grin. Slightly excited. And a little thought slipping in - mechanics, the practicalities. "Where do you do it? Or where did you, when I was still at home?" Curiosity. "I never caught you in the act, so you must have been pretty secret about it."

He stays quiet, looking at me - I'm about to poke him again when I remember I said I'd answer first. "Right, uh. I didn't really do it so often when I was at home, but it'd be in our room, when you were out, when I knew I'd be alone for a while. Tried to be pretty sneaky myself." I give him a self-conscious smirk, while he sits, gazing at me with rapt interest. "Around here, well. It's pretty much just right on the bed."

"Right here?" He breathes his fascination, his eyes darting about to take in the queen-sized bed with a new interest. His palm dropping to run flat and open on the outer covers, an exploration slow as a loving caress. I nod back, feeling again my heartbeat hasten fast and deep, a ticklish smile flitting on my lips. He's imagining it. He must be; I can see it in his eyes, distant and unfocused. Envisioning me on the bed, as I've been so many times, fingers slipping up between my legs, seeking out my center. Languid touches building to explosive release. I've always felt faintly pathetic at having to resort to getting myself off; now, with David's interest, I feel almost sexy, talking about it. Thinking about it.

"Ah." He drifts gradually back to reality with a shake of his head, quite a flush still burning on his cheeks. "I guess I, um. Now that I have the room to myself, I usually do it in there, or sometimes in the shower." The words seem to come a little easier, as he accustoms himself to sharing these details. "But before you left...I actually headed out into the woods to do it."

"Out in the open?" I raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Weren't you afraid of somebody seeing you?"

"Terrified." He chuckles softly. "That's why, though. I didn't really have much time in the house alone, and even when I did, I was always afraid that somebody would come home early and catch me. So I'd go out maybe five minutes into the forest, to this little grove...kinda enclosed. Thought I'd be able to hear, first, if anyone came close. Don't know if I really could have or not; nobody ever came near." A wry look flashes across his face. "Far as I know, anyway."

"Yeah," I snicker softly, "Maybe you were putting on a show for all the girls in town, huh?" But a tingle of excitement aches tightly at my breast, despite the lightness of my words. The thought of him standing out there in the woods, back braced against a tree as he pulls his cock from his pants and into the cool, wet air. Of his strong fingers wrapping round, slowly stroking at his organ, almost casually...of it growing tall and stiff in his hand, thick and tempting. It's enough to spark a familiar touch of wetness down at the juncture of my legs, the faintly manic energy of arousal. I've always had kind of a thing about guys jacking off, a quiet fascination. My one perversion. Well, maybe not my only one, but...yeah.

I try to shake it off, settle down a little. Halfway succeed - it's still there, in the back of my mind. Teasing me. "I usually just run on imagination." My eyes rest on his as I speak, my tone more casual than I feel. "Or memory. Thinking about guys I've been with, or ones who've caught my eye. Sometimes just imagining a situation; some handsome stranger runs into me on my way back to the apartment, and we end up fucking in a stairwell." A flickering smile, and sudden worry - I don't want him to think I'm a slut. "Not that I'd do really do that. It's just...anyway. How about you? I guess guys usually need something a little more visual, right?"

"I..." He hesitates only briefly now, before nodding. "Yeah. I found an old Playboy, kept in a garbage bag stuck in a branch, until it finally just fell apart. After that...well, you know the computer in the den. I've been using it to look up pictures, or stories. Trying to kinda hold them in my head until I get somewhere safe." He swallows slowly, his gaze flashing away. "Um, and sometimes I just think about...imagine, uh...you. You and me, together."

A nervous thrill arcs through me, hearing this confession. "Jeez, you creep." My voice teasing, my lips curved in an indulgent grin. "You're not supposed to tell a girl that. Who the hell wants to hear that you jerk off thinking about them?" But I do. I mean, I shouldn't - christ, I shouldn't - but it's such a delightful rush. That I'm the one who fills his thoughts, who turns him on. It's a powerful feeling. Sexy. Dirty. Both.

"Hey, wait," as another realization noses into my consciousness. "Your shower last night. Did you...?" I raise an eyebrow questioningly, electing this time to avoid too blatant a phrasing. It's clear enough to convey the meaning; David's blush deepens, and he silently nods.

Jesus, right there in our bathroom. It's too easy to imagine. His beefy body filling our little shower, streams of water cascading down his chiseled chest, rivulets collecting in the furrows of his musculature. The sheen of his skin, tanned and glinting with soap suds. His cock hanging down, pendulous and heavy, half-erect from our recent misadventure on the couch. I can just see him there, dutifully washing up - and then hesitating, as his hand brushes upon his organ, making it bobble upward, hungry for attention. He'd glance around the cramped room, peer out through the shower curtain to make sure the door was locked before trying anything. Then slip his hand around, slowly stroking at that tumid, veiny flesh...close his eyes, brace one hand against the wall as it rises up proudly to its full height. He tugs faster, his breathing heavy, a grimace of deep, masculine satisfaction crossing his expression as he slides towards his release, his hand pistoning furiously around that fleshy shaft. Then it hits - his balls tightening against his body, his cock twitching as it spits a thick, gorgeous stream of cum to splatter on the tiles of the shower. Jet after jet spurting forth, ropey strands laid out chaotic as a Pollack painting...

Fuck, I'm turned on. I shiver a little, feeling the lace of my bra tight against stiff and sensitive nipples, the familiar flowing heat down between my hips. A haze of warmth behind faintly glassy eyes. Primitive hunger down somewhere beneath my belly. Imagination isn't enough; I need something more. Something real.

No real thought, before I speak. "Show me." A murmured command, quiet but intense, with my mind left scrambling behind to rationalize. Technically, we wouldn't be touching each other...

David looks shocked, not quite believing his ears. Not knowing what to make of my words. "I don't..." He fairly whispers back, stunned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean show me." A mild flush descends on my own cheeks, but I stick to my guns. Committed. I can't turn back now. Or I don't want to. I don't know. The voice of lust still murmurs in my mind. "I want to see you do it, see you masturbate."

He's shaking his head from my first words. Fear stamped into his expression, staring out of his eyes. Desire barely visible behind it, held in chains - I would never recognize it, if I weren't so familiar with his ways. "Sam, that's...I can't." His voice is pleading, the tone of quiet terror he always has when pushed beyond the edge of comfort. "Talking about it, that's one thing, but actually...in front of you, I couldn't. I can't."

My lips twitch towards a little smile, touched with sympathy, peaked with exasperation. Tight with my own excitement. "What are you afraid of, Davey?" Want pounding in my heart, pushing me to push him forward. "It's just me. Just us. Right?"

"Yeah, but..." His head still shakes faintly, his eyes fixed weakly on the bedcovers. "You'd see, um...me, you'd..."

"David." My voice drops, firm and pointed. "If there's one of us who should be comfortable with showing off their body, it's you. Fuck, I still haven't lost my freshman fifteen. And you, these days you're built like..." Biting my lip, I just breathe a moment, letting my gaze trickle down across the sculpted expanse of his physique. "Besides...I want to see." My eyes narrowing a touch, emphasis on the word. Unfair of me, maybe. But he so seldom goes against my wants.

Silence. Immobility. He stares down with an air of helplessness at the sheets in the space between us, refusing to raise his eyes to mine, unwilling now to risk either denial or agreement. God, he's such a delicate soul, so meek and gentle - withdrawal, his only way of standing up for himself. I can't just demand, even if he would obey. No. Instead... "What about this." A warmer smile curving my lips, my pulse racing at the notion circling in my head. "What if I gave you something to get you going? A little show?"

His eyes venture fearfully upward, touching barely on mine. Skittish as a wild fawn. The words come, cautiously questioning. "What do you...?"

"I mean this." And with sudden determination, I grab hold of the bottom of my shirt, pull it up and off in a single, smooth motion. Leaving me sitting there in my bra and jeans, my heated skin tingling in the cool air of the bedroom. My stomach clenched tight, the mingling of nerves and my own arousal. I can feel his gaze on me, a piercing warmth, and it carries with it a soft rush of pleasure.

Not done. Not yet. A deep breath, and with faintly trembling fingers I reach back, unhook the clasp of my bra. Letting it fall off on its own, prosaically tumbling to the bedcovers as if unaware that its removal has any significance. Revealing myself to David, for the first time since such things had meaning. It feels like a first time; my insides gently ache with the same tense uncertainty, the pleasant sense of daring and excitement, that I experienced years ago, in my first fumbling afternoon of sexual exploration. An acute awareness of my body on display, feeling every little imperfection. The tiny bulge at my abdomen, above the waist of my jeans, that no amount of exercise quite seems to fix. The mole at the side of my chest, almost under my arm. The left breast that I swear is just a little smaller than my right...fuck, I know I'm no model. I just want to be enough.

I could almost believe I am, from the way he stares at me. His lips barely parted, breathing slow and deep, his eyes darting between my face and my chest, sliding across my breasts in a caress so solid I can almost feel it. And the desire I see in his expression...oh, I could drink it, I could bathe in the warm radiance of his gaze. A smile presses at my mouth, quivering delight. "See anything you like?" Self-conscious teasing, threaded through the words.

His head barely shakes, a look alike to wonderment. His lips open and close again, wordlessly. It's some seconds before he finally speaks, his voice a deep melody of want and worship. "It's...you're beautiful, you..." Trailing off again. My smile spreads, a blossoming of joy at the words - and a piercing power in the beating of my heart, as I note the burgeoning bulge at the top of his jeans.

"Is this the kind of thing you thought about? That you imagined?" I hardly more than murmur the question, my breathing quick and slightly shallow. My left hand creeps up, grasping at my breast, squeezing with an aching slowness...my thumb brushing, pinching at the proudly peaked nipple, sending electric sparks shooting through my nerves. Not even sure if I'm doing it for his sake, or for the sheer pleasure of the act. Either way, David's eyes are wide and dumbly staring as he nods his answer.

"Then show me." A velvet command. And a thrill of almost wicked joy as - slowly, hesitantly - he moves to obey. My ears prick to the soft, metallic snicker of his fly unzipping, and I watch intently as he somewhat awkwardly adjusts his seating on the bed, ending up kneeling with knees doubled and spread wide. As the waist of his jeans drops, boyishly simple tighty-whities slip into view, the shape of his organ outlined obscenely beneath the taut fabric.

He pauses now, weakly, his hand hesitating at the elastic band of his briefs. Ready to loose his manhood from its confinement. His eyes probe at mine, bashful and inquiring, and I can almost hear his question in my head. Are you sure? His imagined voice solicitous, worried. Are you really sure? And for a moment, I wonder. This is pretty out there, pretty crazy. But...fuck. It's within the rules I set, right? I'm not going to be touching him. I'm just going to be watching. Just to see. Just this once.