Well-Fogged Windows

"Sister's room," he breathed behind my ear, the sound making my stomach tighten, "right above us. Quiet."

I could only manage a nod. Not because his hand was over my mouth--well, partially that, but mostly because his cock was still sliding against me in a rhythm, which had grown steadily faster. It wasn't fucking; it was something... different. Like the way I'd seen him jerking off, when I first stepped into the bathroom. There was a force, a desperation to it, that bordered on aggression. I tried to swallow my moans, but a few of them still escaped, finding the cup of his palm and echoing back into my mouth. Whether it was arousal, or because I was forced to breathe through my nose and kept forgetting to, or something else entirely, I felt my head beginning to spin.

Then his other hand was around my hip, hugging me firmly in place with its pressure. His fingers skimmed my pelvis, brushing through the layer of blonde hair that covered its center. As they found my clit, I buckled. There was no holding back the moans any longer, and I felt the sound move closer to my throat as he alternated the motions of his cock with those of his fingers.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he spoke quietly; quietly, but not softly. There was nothing soft about him any longer. I nodded repeatedly, pressing the bottom of my nose against the topmost of his fingers.

He needn't have worried about it. I was loose, slack-jawed with pleasure. If not for his hands, I'm certain that I would have ended up on the floor of the shower. I don't know if I would have felt the fall. The movement of his cock was pushing me close to the edge of an orgasm; by the way my thoughts were spinning, I knew it was going to be formidable. Closing my eyes, I surrendered completely. To Clark--to pleasure. To the desperate need I could feel building inside of my body. My breathing stuttered, locking up in my chest and throat. I felt my body convulse slightly, like the top of it was trying to bend down and put my head between my knees; but couldn't, because my cheek was pressed to the glass wall in front of me.

"That's it," Clark's exhale was a wet warmth against the back of my neck, "Cum for me, Cassie."

It was my own name, pronounced in his voice. It was the words that proceeded them. It was the overpowering tone of arousal that both roughened and lowered his already bass voice. It was all of this, just as much as it was the sensation of his fingers and cock. The world reeled, like it had when I'd woken up; this time, the sensation wasn't over in a heartbeat. If I hadn't been pressed between his body and the shower wall, I would have collapsed. I exhaled explosively, like a hammer had been swung into my stomach. This time, even his hand couldn't fully contain the volume of my moan. My pussy pulsed, grasping at nothing. The emptiness of it, combined with the sensation of my orgasm, made me delirious.

Behind me, Clark was breathing hard. His hands slipped away as I turned, half-stumbling backward as I pushed my hands against his chest.

I needed him inside of me--and I needed it now. As he went to his bum, I knelt to straddle him on the shower floor. There wasn't enough room for him to fully straighten his legs, so the top of his thighs pressed against the back of my bum as I crawled on top of him. I felt my braid slide, and saw the end of it hanging down on the left side of my face.

"Like before," I pushed myself up, flattening my hands against his chest. Staring down into his eyes, I found myself surprised.

Gone was the hardness that was there, only moments earlier. From below me stared up a pair of blue eyes that were exactly as I remembered them; composed as marble, imperturbable almost to the point of emptiness. He raised a hand, catching me around the side of the neck. Not the grabbing, assertive touch it had been before. This was something gentle.

As I stared down at him, the shadow of a thought loomed inside of me. I pushed it away, an automatic reaction. But the longer that I looked at him, the longer that I looked into those eyes, the longer that the silence stretched between us, the more the thought came back. So I examined it. But even that was impossible. It really was like a shadow; the closer I brought the light source, the more the form and direction of it changed.

"How long?" I asked, feeling my heart beating against the inside of my chest.

The confirmation was in the fact that he didn't have to ask what I was talking about. He only blinked, tilting his head in a way that made a few of the curly blonde threads catch in the grout-lines of the bathroom tiles. His mouth tightened, and then smoothed.

"Sixteen," he said, simply.

"Sixteen?"

"Look," his tone wasn't patronizing, or dismissive. It was him. Simple, honest, confident in a way that was so underspoken it could almost be mistaken for neutrality, "This doesn't have to be--"

I shut him up with a kiss. Bending over his body, I let the protrusion of my stomach lean down against his, fitting us together perfectly. Forgotten was how the meeting began. Forgotten was the length of his cock that I held trapped between my pelvis and the bottom of his stomach. Forgotten were the two girls who slept above us. Forgotten, completely, was my embarrassment.

I kissed him like I could only take air that had been inside of his lungs first. His arms wrapped around my upper body, hands spreading over the top of my back. I barely felt it. I was too busy licking the taste of him out of his mouth, my tongue wrapping around his. It wasn't a kiss, I knew. It was a confession.

When he bent his legs, freeing his hips from beneath my weight and bringing the head of his cock to the entrance between my legs, I felt my belly clench. Sidling backward, still with my tongue twined around his, I inhaled deeply through my nose. Waiting.

It was everything that I needed it to be. Gone was his earlier aggression. Now, he eased himself into me by inches. Only when he repositioned his hips against the tiles, causing the direction of the shaft inside of me to shift slightly, did the kiss break. My mouth stayed against his, and I gasped against his lower lip. My breathing was an unsteady cadence, made louder by the walls around us and by the opening of his mouth. A slight pressure from his hips lifted by pelvis, drawing me deeper still, until my breathing nearly stopped altogether. And all that, before he really started to move. Deep, penetrative strokes which I matched by pressing my chest to his and wrapping my hands around his head, grabbing at his hair. I could see the white tips of my nails, peeking through the blonde curls. The slightly rough texture of his five-o'clock shadow scratched my cheek, but I didn't care.

He felt gloriously, positively masculine. It was like he was two men; one who was quiet and gentle, the other who was hard-eyed and hard-bodied. A man staring at his own reflection in a mirror. No--I corrected the thought slightly. Not a mirror. A man staring at his own reflection in well-fogged glass.

And then, with that thought, I gave up thinking completely. I felt the length of his arms, steadying the sides of my body. I felt his deep-seated thrusts, and I began pushing back against him in a steady rhythm. My mouth grasped at his, and then bent down to lick the sweat from the hollow where his neck met his jaw.

As I felt the orgasm coming, I wrapped my mouth around his neck and moaned into his skin. Below me, I could feel his breathing; his chest rising and falling like belows, lifting me easily with it. It made me feel as if I were made of paper. Wet paper. I clenched my hands in his hair, biting down on the bare skin of his shoulder just as the orgasm swept through me. Up from where he thrust between my legs, through my thighs and bum, up into the pit of my stomach.

This time, when I came, I felt myself tightening around his cock. It filled me, held in place by his raised hips while I rode out the shudders of pleasure. His hand strayed up my back, gripping the back of my neck with equal force.

"Cassie, I'm not--" Beside my ear, slightly muffled by my hair, I heard the clear note of desperation in his voice.

"I'm--covered."

I silently took a moment to thank myself for having gone through the pain of an IUD four years earlier. It was worth it, for this moment. Below me, Clark picked up his previous rhythm once more. I clung to him, tracing a line of kisses from the top of his shoulder to the bottom of his closest ear. I could make out the impression of my teeth marks, pressed into the skin of his shoulder. I kissed each one separately.

When he came, he released his grip on the back of my neck. Tilting his head back, he shoved his pointer finger into his mouth and bit down--hard. I replaced it with my mouth, and he groaned into it. Inside of me, his cock jerked spasmodically. I felt the hot rush of his cum, bucking my hips in a way that made Clark's hands twitch against my back. For a moment, his normally placid face was almost rictus. The indents of his jaw stood out like the twin points of mountains, below his skin.

I lay there, listening to him breathe and tracing the side of his face with my lips. Not kissing; just a slow pattern, occasionally nestling the tip of my nose into the hair in front of his ears, occasionally pressing them to the corner of his own mouth.

"Think I made it up to you?"

He croaked a laugh. Inside of me, I could feel his cock slowly softening. As it eased out, I felt cum leaking down in the inside of my thighs and onto his. Clark's arm tightened around me, and I felt myself being lifted gently to my feet. He set me down, reaching over and turning the handle of the shower. As water began to fall around us, I placed my face on the side of his broad chest and breathed deeply.

"So, uh..." Clark cleared his throat. Behind me, I heard a quiet click as he opened a bottle of shampoo and squeezed a drop into the cup of his palm. I sighed, as he eased the elastic out of my hair and began to massage the oil through the quickly-dampening length, "Any time you wanna use my washroom..."

I laughed, standing on the tips of my toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

A knock on the door froze us. Water still fell, but Clark and I stared at one another wide-eyed. I pressed my lips together.

"Cass...?" Alyssa's voice called through the door, heavy with sleep, "Clark's gonna be pissed if he finds out you're using his washroom."

"I don't think he'll mind," I called back. In front of me, Clark raised his eyebrows, causing me to swallow a laugh. His hands were still tangled in my hair, and he began to work their tips against my scalp.

"Well, finish up. We're doing pancakes."

"Sounds good," I call back, pressing my forehead against Clark's chest. I felt him nodding against the top of my head.

"So," Clark spoke quietly enough that his voice wouldn't carry through the door, in the event that Alyssa was still standing nearby, "I guess we're going to have to tell her, huh?"

"Fine by me," I answered. He looked into my eyes for a moment, and I saw him blink when he realized that I was telling the truth. Slowly, he nodded. I opened my mouth, then pressed my lips together for a moment before continuing, "Can we just have... five more minutes?"

"Twelve years," he chuckled. Despite my exhaustion, the sound was almost enough to make me wet again, "I think I can handle five more minutes."

I'll never know what my expression looked like, in that moment. I only know that it caused Clark's blue eyes to focus on mine, catching a bit of the brightness from the overhead light.

"Five minutes?" My hand slid down his stomach, "Think so?"

Our mouths met. Water cascaded around us. His hand went from the back of my head to the back of my neck, and mine moved even lower.

Well-Fogged Windows ---- THE END.