april
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,249
- Points
- 63
Sam's apartment was exactly the kind of cozy chaos you loved; warm lamplight glowing in the corners, shelves half-filled with odd little treasures, a faint scent of vanilla and spice and something faintly woody lingering in the air. No couch meant he had to get creative, so he pulled a pile of comforters and blankets onto the floor, spreading them out into a makeshift lounge in the middle of his livingroom. The fabric was soft under your legs, patterned with mismatched colors that only added to the charm.
You both settled in, shoulder to shoulder, lost in your own little world of conversation. For nearly an hour you stayed in that easy rhythm; leaning forward when something made you both excited, grinning over shared references, gesturing toward the little treasures he'd collected. He proudly showed you his lineup of custom made cards cards, the edges smooth under your fingertips, his tarot decks, each one carrying its own mood, some whimsical, some moody. There were stacks of board games neatly stacked against the wall, enamel pins shaped like tiny in-jokes you both instantly got, and a shallow bowl of stickers scattered like bright confetti.
It was easy, comfortable...but under the surface, you could feel something building.
Last time, Sam had been a brat to the end and you had left him giggly, breathless, and defeated. Tonight you'd decided to make him wait for the rematch. You kept your hands to yourself, kept the conversation flowing, stretched the moments out until the air between you hummed with that unspoken anticipation. You wanted him restless. You wanted him to break first.
And he did.
Without warning, his hand darted in, fingers squeezing lightly at your ribs. You gasped and jerked back, your body instantly responding before your brain could catch up. He grinned like a wolf who'd just stolen a bite of something forbidden.
But you weren't going to let him win that easily.
You lunged for him, full bodily, catching him off guard and pushing him back into the nest of comforters. He folded in on himself immediately, limbs tangling, quiet laughter bubbling up before he could smother it. Your fingers danced over every spot you knew would make him squirm, relentless and quick. The sound of his soft laughter filled the apartment; bright, unguarded and already edged with breathlessness.
Except this time...he didn't fully give in the way he'd done the last.
His hands came up to bat yours away, not with real desperation, but with that infuriating, controlled energy; just enough to keep you from having total control. And then the teasing started.
"You know..." he laughed between half-hearted pushes. "I don't beg. You can't break me."
Eyes narrowed, you aim for his side again, but the moment your hand came close, his fingers darted forward, brushing along your ribs so lightly it made you squeal and curl back, completely breaking your attack.
"Ohhh, what's wrong?" He said with mock innocence, eyes alight with mischief. "Is someone too ticklish to fight back?"
Every time you tried again, it was the same; your hands reaching out, his fingers intercepting, the quick shock of it forcing you to bend away and giggle, unable to push through. It was an entire game for him, and he was thriving in it.
"I know you want to tickle me." The teasing continued, his voice dipping into that smug, cutsey tone that made your stomach flip. "And I know you want to hear me beg, its not going to happen."
You pouted though your giggles, glaring at him like you could will him into submission. "Not fair." You managed between bursts of laughter, your hands already poised for another attack.
That's when he twisted the knife.
"Aw, is somebody being a grumpy wumpus?" He cood in an exaggerated, silly voice, tilting his head like he was talking to a pet.
The ridiculousness of it made you laugh harder, but it also made you want to wipe that smug little grin right off his face. You went in again, determined this time, but he caught you, fingers spidering under your arm while his other hand darted out to give you a soft pat on your head, causing you to giggle and curl in on yourself again.
"You're adorable when your frustrated," he teased, leaning in close enough for his hair to brush your cheek. His hand flickered forward again, just a quick maddening touch, and you yelped, pulling away as he grinned in triumph.
"Go on," he said softly, taunting you. "Try again. I dare you."
And you did. Again and again. But every time those clever hands of his got you first, leaving you giggling and flustered, caught in the middle of his bratty little victory.
"Well..." you managed between breathless laughs, your voice softening into a coaxing whine, your bottom lip curving into an exaggerated pout.. "at least take your shirt off so that I have something to look at while you're being such a terrible tease."
But instead of caving, his grin turns softer, and he tilts his head a little. "I don't think I will." He said gently. "Because I know you want me to. And...I know what it does to you."
His sweet denial made your stomach flutter.
He scooted next to you, comforters bunching under his knees as he leaned in, then even closer, his nose almost brushing yours and gave you the kind of kiss that stole your breath without meaning to. Its gentle, a little tentative even, but somehow that makes it even more disarming.
The light tickling never stopped, those sweet little brushes over your tummy making you giggle softly into the kiss. Its not the relentless teasing that traps you. Its playful, affectionate, almost like hes holding your laughter in the same hands hes holding you with.
You cant help but smile against his mouth, the sound of your own quiet giggles mixing with the soft hum of his. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his grin warm.
"See?" He murmurs, still trailing those fingertips over you. "I dont even need to take my shirt off to have my way. But..." he continued softly, almost like hes letting you in on a little secret, "I will for you anyways."
The words make your breath catch, and before you could respond, he'd pushed himself back up, just enough for you to take him in.
His eyes stayed on yours as his fingers moved to the first button. He worked slowly, not in a teasing, calculated way, more like hes savoring the moment, letting you watch because he wants you to see him.
Each button undone gives you another glimpse; the pale line of his collarbone, the smooth plane of his chest, the lean, defined cut of muscle that dissappears under the dark fabric. When he finally parts the shirt completely, the lamplight catches across his skin, tracing the sculpted lines of his torso in soft gold.
Theres nothing smug in his expression, just the same sweet smile, like hes happy to give you this.
"Better?" He asked, voice light as if he doesn't know just how much your heart is pounding.
He lowered himself next to you, his now unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. The warmth of his skin radiated toward you, and before you could get used to it, he leaned in close and booped you on the nose with one fingertip.
"Because," he said in that ridiculous singsong voice again "we still can't have someone being a grumpy wumpus."
That was it.
"You're such a brat!"
He doesn't even pretend to deny it. His grin widens into something wickedly boyish. "Oh, I'm most definitely a brat."
You're patience had been thoroughly tested with his insufferably cutsey behavior.
"I'm going to hold you down, brat, and tickle you until you learn what manners are."
His eyes sparkle instantly. "I dont know...can you?" He replies, the words drawn out in that taunting boyish tone that made your stomach twist in equal parts laughter and annoyance.
"Stop that! Stop or I'll make you stop it!"
"But, can you though?" He countered again, grin breaking wide as he tilted his head in challenge.
"Oh my gods, stop it!" You exclaimed, incredulous now, laughing hard because its ridiculous how easily hes shutting you down. Your fingertips are practically itching to get at him, to sink into his stomach and ribs until hes laughing the way you want him to.
But instead he just smirks and shakes his head slowly. "No." He said, voice low and sweet. "You love this. You love me being a brat."
He was right, but that didn't mean he didn't just punchline himself to the end of the road. You knew exactly how to handle a brat like him, and if he wanted games, he'd just earned himself a wicked one.
Your giggles fade into a slow, sultry smile. Your posture changes so quickly it makes him falter. You look up at him though your lashes with slow, wide doe eyes. "Oh, Sam." You trail a single finger down his arm, intentionaly making hom flinch. "I've seen you.." you murmur, letting the words linger, low and suggestive. The change in your tone is so sharp it steals his breath; his eyes flicker between surprise and curiosity.
You're fingertips trail from his arm, gliding lazily along the open edge of his shirt, brushing over the warm skin beneath in a slow, deliberate path. Your other hand drifts casually across your collarbone, down to the top of your blouse, fingers skimming just above the cleavage in an unhurried tease.
The bratty grin vanishes instantly.
His gaze follows your hand like its tethered, and for the first time, you catch him openly looking down at your chest; somethings hes always avoided before, always the gentleman.
"I can just..." you let your voice drop, savoring the way hes hanging on your words. "...do the same. I can take this off. Would you like that?"
His answer isn't verbal, just a small, almost unconscious nod, like he can't trust his voice.
You draw it out, taking your time as you grip the hem of your blouse and lift it slowly, sliding the fabric up your skin, over your shoulders, and finally over your head. You let it fall beside you, the black silk of your bra catching the light.
Hes still holding his breath.
You reach both hands behind you, the subtle flex of your arms making your breasts shift beneath the silky cups. The clasp comes undone with a soft snap, and you let the straps slide slowly down your shoulders, the fabric whispering over your skin until it drops into your lap, revealing the full, perfect curve of your breasts to his wide-eyed stare.
"Now then," you murmur, your voice smooth and sure. "lets remove this silly thing."
You lean in close, your hands warm against his skin as you slide them up under the edges of his open shirt. Your fingers move slowly, purposefully, brushing over the curve of his shoulders before pushing the fabric back, letting it glide down the backs of his arms. The soft scrape of cotton against his skin is the only sound until it pools at his elbows, and you ease it the rest of the way off. The shirt slips from your fingertips, landing in a careless heap on the floor.
Before he can think to move, you press lightly on his chest, urging him down onto the floor. His legs are still drawn up, knees bent, but you slide forward, swinging one leg over to straddle his lap, settling onto his hips in a slow, sensual shift of weight that makes his breath hitch audibly.
His eyes drink in your body before locking onto yours, the bratty spark dimmed and replaced by something heavier, more intent.
"Where were we?" You ask in a playfull, taunting tone, your fingertips resting on his chest. You let your nails trail just enough to make him twitch under your touch. "Oh, yes...this is the part where I get my way."
And from the way his hands twitch at his sides, like hes not sure whether to hold you or surrender, you can tell, he knows it too.
He's already lost to you; you're draped across his lap like a dark promise, the slow curve of your smile making it clear; you're the predator here, and you'll take your time.
You move like a succubus weaving her magic, each touch measured, designed to undo him one heartbeat at a time. Your nails start at the center of his chest, tracing lazy paths upward, just grazing the skin so lightly that his lips part with a sharp exhale. The faint scrape draws a shiver out of him, and you savor it before dragging your fingertips back down, looping over the ridges of his abs as though you're claiming the territory for yourself. His shoulders curl in with a helpless little chuckle. The rest is lost in a small broken burst of laughter as you drift back down, repeating the same maddeningly slow path just to make him feel it twice.
You map out his upper body with idle circles, pressing into his ribs just enough for him to twitch beneath your fingers. He giggles breathlessly, squirming in little bursts, trying to turn away from your hands without actually pulling out from under them.
When you wander over his shoulders, your nails whispering across the slope toward his back, his head tips back on a laugh that edges toward desperate. He squirms hard enough that his hips shift under you, but you keep your pace, curling your fingers back around to the front in slow, precise sweeps.
The moment you go for his lower stomach, his shoulders raise straight off the floor. His laughter spills out fast now, high and helpless, knees bouncing against your hips. When you dip into the ridges of his ribs, he let's out a sharp bark of laughter before dissolving into quick, breathless giggles, twisting left, then right, then left again, trying to get away from the pinpoint lightness of your touch.
You pause a moment to allow his breath to catch. Its not about mercy, its about quietly taunting without saying a single word. You lean forward, softly pushing your breasts into his face. He goes completely still except for the quickened breath you feel against your nipples, sharp, little inhales of breath.
Your movements grow even more wickedly patient as you let your hands slip behind you until your nails find the tender inside of his thighs. His breath stutters. You rake your nails upward, stopping just shy of where instinct tells him you might go, only to withdrawl and start again, keeping him trapped on the edge of anticipation. Every stroke is slow, calculated; a drip of venom, a taste of poison, and you force him to take it all like its nectar.
You can feel his frantic little gasps against the soft skin of your breasts. His hips are firmer beneath you now, holding tension, as if every nerve in him is strung tight. Through the thin barrier between you, there's a solid pressure, hard and pulsing to the rhythm of his uneven breath.
Each time he squirms under your nails, that pressure moves subtly, a reminder of just how much control youve taken from him, it thrums up through your lap with every twitch of his body.
You lean away slowly, pulling the warmth of your breasts away from the heat of his breath. The look in his eyes as you draw back tells you everything; he's left blinking, lips parting like he might follow you forward if youd let him.
And you dont. Not yet.
Every spot you touch, you return to. Twice. Three times. You draw out each reaction. Every quiver, every kick, every desperate giggle that spills from him. Every twist of his torso, every sound sends a little rush through you, feeding that part of you that thrives on having him so completely at your mercy. His muscles tighten and release under your fingertips, his breath coming faster, his laughter breaking in ways that make your pulse skip. Hes unraveling you just as much as you're unraveling him.
You could almost feel the last of his restraint slipping. He was vulnerable.
Resolute to break him, you shift forward, letting your weight settle on him, your fingers curling into something firmer. This time you didn't drag, you dove in; quick, unrelenting with more measured pressure behind every motion. The switch up was fast and cruel and gave him zero time to orient himself. His laughter broke right open. His body bucked against yours and you were worried for the first time that he might actually shake you off. His head dropped back, hair mussed from all the struggling, and still; no begging, just that stubborn, wild sound pouring from him.
You chased it. Every flinch only drove your hands faster. Every twist of his body another opening to slip into a weak spot. You could feel the way his chest heaved under you, the way his grip on the comforter tightened, but he held out. It was in his nature, that streak of quiet resistance, and youd come here tonight, intent on crushing it.
So you kept going. Faster. Harder. Relentless.
By now his breath was nearly ragged, his strength fading under the weight of your touch. And then at the peak of it, he let out a breath that trembled, his voice barely more than a ghost in the air.
"...No."
So quiet you almost missed it. Not a surrender shouted for mercy, but a whisper meant for himself.
And that was when you knew you'd won.
The second the word left his lips, you stopped. No hesitation, no lingering tease. Your hands fell still, and you slid gracefully off his lap. Sam's body reacted before his mind seemed to catch up. He curled in on himself instinctively, one arm wrapping over his ribs as though he could shield himself from your fingers. He sighed, his eyes half-lidded and glazed from the intensity.
You reached out for him without thinking, cupping the back of his head in both hands. His hair was damp, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Carefully you guided him down until his head settled in your lap, the weight of it grounding you both. Your fingers threaded into his hair, slow and gentle, smoothing it back from his face in tender strokes.
For a moment, the entire room softened into an intimate moment, unguarded stillness; him lying there in the afterglow of your wicked play, you holding him with care that almost erased the mischief of what came before.
Almost.
"You realize how much trouble you're in, dont you?"
It wasnt loud, but it carried that smooth, knowing roguery that made your stomach tighten. His eyes cracked open just enough to catch yours, the corners of his mouth curling in a smile that said he was already ten steps ahead. It was the look of someone who had let you have your victory; just so that he could savor the moment he took it back, piece by piece.
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