[ Meanwhile, Heathcliff is slowly melting down. The freckles, the moles, the space between her thighs, the way her muscles disappear under panties... The legs on his shoulders are completely unnecessary at this point, and he shifts his way right through them to settle himself on top of Ishmael, his crotch pressed to her ass, where she can certainly feel his cock swelling hard through two thin layers of cotton. Fuck, that's good. He rolls his hips. That's good too. Less thinking, more doing.
Heathcliff's flushed at this point, but the way he pins her down, one hand pulling her hair out of the way and the other grabbing her jaw, is far from embarrassed. He has the frustration of a man trying to keep this particular bus together long enough for both of them to figure out if they even enjoy this. ]
Do you ever think, with that gigantic brain of yours, that there may be things that are much better when you shut the fuck up?
[ He wasn't planning on following up with a kiss, but her face is right there, and they're very close, and the heat between her legs feels so good, and it's a productive way of keeping her mouth busy. Even she would probably admit that if Heathcliff's mouth wasn't in the way.
Is it the greatest kiss in the world? Hell no. But Heathcliff continues to grind against Ishmael, grunting a little through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, really far too busy feeling out what he likes about Ishmael's body to notice that he's just pressing his lips to hers without any real pressure. It might actually be better than trying too hard, though. It leaves his mouth slack, tasting of coffee, softer than Heathcliff is used to being, and the lack of attention placed on doing anything right gives him an opportunity to do whatever feels best in the moment.
Which was the point of getting started in the way he did, of course. He's better at performing when there's less thinking to do, and he knows it. Sex is one of the least cerebral pursuits known to man. He knows he's got this as long as Ishmael doesn't distract him with logistics and communication... Which, you know, will happen eventually, but he figures she'll do it whether he likes it or not. Better to get his kicks in now before she turns the tables on him. ]
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Heathcliff's flushed at this point, but the way he pins her down, one hand pulling her hair out of the way and the other grabbing her jaw, is far from embarrassed. He has the frustration of a man trying to keep this particular bus together long enough for both of them to figure out if they even enjoy this. ]
Do you ever think, with that gigantic brain of yours, that there may be things that are much better when you shut the fuck up?
[ He wasn't planning on following up with a kiss, but her face is right there, and they're very close, and the heat between her legs feels so good, and it's a productive way of keeping her mouth busy. Even she would probably admit that if Heathcliff's mouth wasn't in the way.
Is it the greatest kiss in the world? Hell no. But Heathcliff continues to grind against Ishmael, grunting a little through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, really far too busy feeling out what he likes about Ishmael's body to notice that he's just pressing his lips to hers without any real pressure. It might actually be better than trying too hard, though. It leaves his mouth slack, tasting of coffee, softer than Heathcliff is used to being, and the lack of attention placed on doing anything right gives him an opportunity to do whatever feels best in the moment.
Which was the point of getting started in the way he did, of course. He's better at performing when there's less thinking to do, and he knows it. Sex is one of the least cerebral pursuits known to man. He knows he's got this as long as Ishmael doesn't distract him with logistics and communication... Which, you know, will happen eventually, but he figures she'll do it whether he likes it or not. Better to get his kicks in now before she turns the tables on him. ]