Inspiration: In which Matthew decides to take things into his own hands…sort of. :)
It is in the very early morning that you find yourself most appreciative of life. The sun hasn't fully risen yet, but the room is bathed in that lightened color that makes it almost seem to be anxiously awaiting the sun's rays. You feel many things as you lay in between mussed sheets and warm skin. Things that don't make complete sense and yet do at the same time. It feels like you are lingering in some strange purgatory between sleep and reality and it is all your lover's fault, because the way he holds you close to his chest makes your brain fizzle out and become clouded. Clouded like the rain clouds that hang far overhead and drizzle down tears.
Your fingers curve over the man beside you, dipping very gently against his bare back as you stare at him. Matthew breathes out evenly, eyes fluttered closed, hair splayed across his forehead in a sweeping, messy flair. His grasp tightens just a little on you, pulling you ever closer to his chest. His arms are surprisingly muscular, not like
but subtler, gentler,
firm. You know for a fact that if he was
awake he'd be blushing now, always embarrassed about intimacy. The fact that you are both completely bare
would not help him. America
You curve a leg around his waist, molding your lower bodies together and studying the subconscious way his expression moves as you do. A soft smile eased over your lips and you close your eyes for a moment, soaking up the peace that flutters over the room. Minutes slip by and the sun begins an early arch into the room, stretching soft, clouded shadows over the floor. Your thumb brushes over the shadows beneath his eyes and your brow crinkles just a little in concern. He hasn't been getting much sleep lately and you know he is exhausted. That is why you remain so adamant about letting him rest.
He sighs out, mumbling softly beneath his breath, and tucks his chin above your head. His leg moves to slid between yours and a noise leave the back of your throat before you can stop it, denoting the sleepy pleasure that his proximity brings. But it isn't enough, it never is, and you have to physically clench your fingers together to stop from touching him more. You don't want to wake him up. He needs sleep, needs it more than you need intimacy. You would be selfish to wake up him so early, especially after the night you two shared, and how late you ended up finally sleeping.
You are completely serious about letting him rest, and you know that if you stay longer, temptation will fiercely call. So you very gently unravel yourself from his arms, slipping your pillow against his chest to give him something to hold onto. You smile when he grips the pillow hard, burying his face into the soft fabric and letting out a sleepy sigh. A moment later, you are tying your robe around your body, kissing him softly on the forehead, and silently leaving the bedroom.
You are a master at morning afters. This one doesn't really count as much, considering Matthew and you have been together for a while now, but still. Morning is your favorite time of day and you flourish in it. So as you pad off to the kitchen, you are humming a gentle tune below your breath, feeling refreshed and ready to start the day. It will be a proper morning after. With lots of food.
And that is how Matthew finds you, a little over an hour later. The smell of your homemade pancakes, eggs, and bacon brought him deliciously to reality, and he stands just outside the kitchen watching you, arms crossed over his bare chest and soft eyes taking you in. You are wearing that robe, and it cinches around your waist delightfully. You hum under your breath, sharp eyes watching the bacon as it splutters and pops in the pan. You don't see him watching you, don't notice the way he has seemingly just rolled out of bed. It is only when he steps forward that you look up, surprised to see him awake already but eager, so eager to greet him.
"Good morning, Matthew," you smile, eyes crinkling away that surprise as it melts into happiness. You walk toward him and he takes you into his arms and mumbles a soft 'good morning' into your ear. You lean up to press your mouth against his because you can't not kiss him, not after the night you'd had. And when you pull away you notice that his cheeks are enveloped in the barest of pinks.
Your hand slips into his and you pull him gently to the stovetop. Comfortable silence sets in as he heats water for tea. He notices that you've already brewed coffee and that there is even a platter of chocolate chip muffins cooling on a wire rack by the oven. He chuckles when he sees all the work you've done and asks, "How long have you been awake?"
You shrug and glance at the clock, chewing your bottom lip and you contemplate your answer. Finally, you say, "'Bout an hour." Then you smile cheekily over at him and you allow your eyes to slip over his body, which makes him blush harder. He is only wearing boxer briefs, and not just any. They have the Canadian flag sprawled across them, and you love them because of one simple, silly fact: the maple leaf is placed directly over his manhood. They hug his hips just right and you feel a shot of desire spark through you at the sight of them. He will never admit that he put them on just to see your eyes light up, like they always do when he wears them. He will never admit that seeing you pay him that sort of attention makes his heart beat right out of his chest. He smiles shyly and wishes he doesn't blush so much, because there's no reason to be embarrassed about this sort of thing. Not anymore.
You want to kiss him. Want to wrap yourself around those strong arms and melt against that bare chest and love him. But it is clear that even though he maybe shares your sentiments, he is also furiously hungry and probably wants only food at this moment in time. So you laugh a little and take two plates out of the cabinet. A moment later they are piled high with food and Matthew is digging in.
Silence drowns out your desire, hunger replaces it. You watch Matt out of the corner of your eye, but it is twenty minutes before you are both full, and by then the sun has risen higher and the clock reads 10:19. The perfect time of day to seduce someone. You smile.
He knows that smile. Recognizes the way it makes your eyes sparkle with mischief, the way the edges of it are almost a smirk. He knows it to be the smile you often wear when you are trying to silently tell him 'I'm about to throw you down and have my wicked way with you, what are you going to do about it?'.
He shifts, blushing, his body tense with too many emotions to understand. He only knows that he cannot wait for you to throw him down, can't wait for you to have your wicked, delicious way. He's been thinking of it all morning, wondering if perhaps he should do something, say something, to make you know how badly he wants you. But he's shit with words and only too happy to let you take the reigns. His delicate nature doesn't allow him to play the dominant role so he lets you.
You watch him like a lioness about to pounce. Your eyes are narrowed slits that purr with desire and the sight of them makes his blood rush directly between his legs. He clears his throat and stands up, reaching for the plates just to give him something to do. But even as he brings them to the sink, Matthew would much rather use his hands for other endeavors, other pastimes. He shudders when the sudden, bright images of last night takes a hold of his mind. You, laying beneath him, back arched, breasts pushed into the air. Him, for once completely sure of himself as he pins you down and makes passionate, delicious love to you. His cheeks flare up and you chuckle, knowing exactly what he is thinking of and somewhat pleased at where his train of thought is.
"What's wrong, Matthew?" you idly wonder, even though you can physically see what's bothering him. It is nudging from his boxer briefs in the barest way, the very beginnings of what you know has the potential to utterly astound you, take your breath away, rebuild all your emotions at once. You slid up to him and touch his back, fingers lightly dancing over the tense way his shoulders are hunched over. You massage them gently for a moment, then press a light kiss against his shoulder blade.
You love his back. It's one of your weird kinks that even Matthew doesn't know about. You don't know why you find the back of him so attractive. Maybe it's because when it's bare like now, you can see the firm way his muscles flex just beneath the skin. Maybe it's because when his back is turned to you and he is wearing his expensive suit and going to his important meetings, you think he looks rather powerful, deadly. Not the normal, shy, spluttering
but one who has risen up, fought tooth and nail to get where he is now, and
never gave up in the process. Canada
Your mouth finds more of that skin and you lean against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. You feel his fingers tangle with yours, dragging your arms more tightly around him. His head falls back and sunlight washes over his features. For the first time in a long time, he feels utterly at peace. And it is because of you.
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong," he answers, suddenly remembering you had asked him a question. The truth of his words hit him hard, beautifully, directly in his chest. His voice is bare, raw even, the husk of what it normally is. Because it is now filled with one single desire, and that is to see you as he'd seen you the night before. Naked, enslaved in passion, and completely his.
You hear the change in his voice, feel the way his body is reacting to you, and you know that it is really high time you do something about it. So you gently draw away, turn him around, look him in the eyes, and murmur, "Come here, Matthew," in a serious, passionate way that makes his heart leap and his head pound.
He is gentle, delicate, soft. He still is, even as he steps forward to kiss you. But in his kiss there is something not gentle or delicate or soft about him. In his kiss there is an edge, a sinful, wicked edge that makes you curl against him and surrender. An edge that screams out in power, in furious need, in warning. And you know that when he gets like this you had better let him have his way, because it is rare and so so erotic to see him actually in control and feeling confident about his sexuality.
His mouth molds against yours and his hands drag over your hips. He jerks you to him in such a way that it leaves no room for arguments. But it doesn't matter anyway. You wouldn't argue with him now, not for anything in the world. Not when he eyes are staring directly into yours and look like hardened amethysts. And those eyes aren't the only thing that is hard.
A gasp flies from your lips when you feel his erection, which is suddenly very stiff as it rubs against you. He encases your butt with two large hands and drags you firmly against his shaft. The fact that there is barely any cloth between you makes him feel even better. Your head falls back in a silent moan and his lips immediately drag over your skin, down your neck, nibbling beneath your ear. When his teeth gently tug over your earlobe, you cannot stop the whimpering moan that bubbles from your throat.
Your fingers scrabble against his broad shoulders, looking for a hold. You are beginning to lose all train of thought. The way Matthew is dominating you is probably the hottest thing you've ever experienced and your body is aching something terrible. And the worst thing about it is that he knows, knows you are getting all excited because he's being rough with you, and even as his cheeks softly blush he's probably more than just a little amused.
You never beg. You never have to because you are usually in the lead. But right now you are all too ready to give in and plead for him to hurry up, take you to the bedroom and fuck you silly. Whether he knows this or not, you don't care. You care only for those hot lips that are burning through your skin and shooting kisses directly to your heart. You care only for those hands, which are even now fiddling with the tie of your robe and pushing it aside.
When the fabric that is your only form of clothing slips away, you watch him carefully for the expression you know will come over his expression. His purple eyes smolder into sensual, bold lavender that curls with darkness. His cheeks are still pinkish, always blushing, but the rest of him is responding not to shyness, but to the desire to dominate. You hold very still as his hands reach up to touch you, starting at your shoulders and then sinking delicately down, down to cup your breasts, brush his thumbs over your nipples, caress the planes of your stomach, hips, butt, thighs, and then…
"Oh! Matthew," you whisper, head falling back as his fingers gently touch your core. You clutch at his shoulders tightly, biting your lip as your eyes lock with his. You absolutely cannot look away from him. It's like you are physically unable to, not when his gaze is directed at you and filled with that roughness, that deep desire. You move your leg aside to give him more room and nearly sag against him when he eases two fingers into your very wet hole.
He doesn't really know what he's doing but he likes it, likes the noises you are making and likes the wet, silky feel of you. He never knows what to do with his desire. Every encounter is new to him, especially ones like this, because he so rarely takes the lead. But he likes this, strangely enough. Likes the powerful feeling he gets from having you whimper out his name. Likes the fact that you are far too weak to even stand, and likes the feel of your weight as it pushes against him. He likes it all, craves it, thinks it is delicious.
But when you turn the little remaining attention you have to him, he very nearly stumbles back. Your hand cups his member and even though he is still wearing his boxer briefs, it feels amazing. He moans and pumps you faster, but he doesn't really care that you have taken away some of his power. This is fine, erotic, passionate. And it gets even better when you dip your fingers against the waistline of his boxers and then venture inside the fabric.
Matthew has to physically bite his lip to stop from moaning. Your skin against his skin is ridiculously arousing. He leans over you and your fingers dig into his back, holding yourself up. One of his arms loops around your waist to pull you closer. It is a strange dance, an intricate move full of twisted limbs and heavy breathing. And kisses, you soon realize, when you look up and suddenly find Matthew's lips hovering just over yours. You dispel the last remaining space between you and kiss him, kiss him in sync with the strokes of your hand and the pumps of his fingers. And it is so sensual that you can barely remain standing.
It is then that you decide that maybe it's time to do something about that. The bedroom isn't that far away and you are tired of having just Matthew's fingers inside you. You want more, much more. You want raw passion and whispered moans and you want to come, want to clutch at him and tumble back into bliss. Your eyes flutter open, only to find that Matthew is already staring at you, already waiting. The fact that he can read you so well makes you chuckle a little, and the lustful sound of it makes his eyes flash.
You don't say anything. But you don't have to. He knows, instinctively or otherwise, that you are about to pull away and turn your sights to better things. You give him one last delicious pump before your hand drags itself out of his boxers, and then your fingers curl around his wrist and he pulls away from you. You step back and your eyes glaze over him, taking in the haphazard way he is breathing, and the way the hem of his boxers are twisted and strewn messily over his hips. But most of all you take in the way his cock is all but straining to escape the fabric, twisted up from your touch. His eyes darken as he watches you, wondering what your next move will be. When he realizes what said move is, he isn't really surprised.
Your fingers reach for his boxers and you jerk them down, staring directly into his eyes as you do. It is only when they are a pool on the floor that you allow yourself to turn and face the rest of him, and the sight of him completely bare makes your body ache, pound with a sudden and very strong need. You swallow thickly and clear your throat, trying to dispel the eagerness from your voice. But you don't really manage to and it makes him pleased, in a way, to see you such a mess.
"Come on," you tell him, reaching forward to take his wrist. But as soon as you have turned your back on him he decides that hey, he's been dominant so far, why not continue the act? So he lunges forward and wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up into the air, reveling in the way you shriek and twist in his arms, shocked and somehow very turned on by his move.
Then you laugh, because even though you've been with Matthew before, more times than you can count, it always feels so new. He always does something that utterly surprises you in the absolutely best way. You feel searing love hit you square in the chest and you surrender to him once more, wrapping one arm around his neck as he pads off to the bedroom. Then he dumps you onto the mattress, pausing for a moment to admire the way your body jerks from the contact, before crawling after you.
His body encases over yours, making you warm and happy and needy all at once. He nestles in between your legs, forearms creating a barrier around your head as he leans down over your mouth. His eyes collide with yours and for a moment, you just stare at each other, sinking into the delightful feeling of closeness. But the moment stretches on and then it is not enough, that closeness, and you need more of it. So you wrap your legs around his waist and drag him against you, watching as the darks in his eyes replace the lights. Watching as passion manifests.
It is time. He presses a short kiss to your lips, cheeks erupting into a sudden and somehow endearing blush, and then reaches down to line himself up. When he pushes into you wet core, the world as you know it seems to change, and everything is suddenly more passionate, more sinful, centered completely around Matthew and the feelings he is giving you.
You whimper and reach for him, not fully prepared for the wide girth of his cock. There is only a little pain but it is enough, enough to make your eyes flutter closed and your expression turn to hurt. Enough to make Matthew stop immediately and look down at you in concern. But you don’t want concern, you want him. Strong and rough and unforgiving. And when you tell him this, you watch his cheeks darken even as his eyes flash with more of that harsh desire. He moves, ripping away that pain and replacing it with hot bliss that careens into you so suddenly that you cannot breathe.
You gasp loudly and he drags your body up into an arch, large hands splayed along your lower back as he lifts your hips to his. And the sinful way your body accommodates him, and you head falls back, and your breasts heave backwards, make him groan and thrust faster. Your fingers scratch up his hands until they finally find a hold around his forearms. Your head eases up just a little so that you can study his expression, and the sight he makes, the way his eyes gleam and his body pumps and rocks and slides against you is the sweetest image you'll ever see.
He is dominating you in a way he only does when he has you pinned down on a mattress. But he doesn't dominate roughly, at least not as roughly as some men do. Though his eyes and his expression are set in firm, almost hard passion, the redness of his cheeks give him away. And in his eyes, layered up beneath that passion and that knowledge that you like him jagged and violent, is nurturing love. The sort of love that makes a person feel like they are living and dying at the same time. The sort of love that has the potential to make someone stronger than ever.
He hits you just right and your head falls back, your hair splaying out over the pillows. You moan something incoherent that almost sounds like his name, and he grits his teeth when he hears it stumble from your parted, bruised lips. You sound and look irresistible to him, so much so that it is difficult for him to hold his orgasm at bay. He wants to spill into you right now, but he knows he will regret it even as he does. So instead, he closes his eyes and slows his pace, wanting to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible.
You moan again, and this time your voice is a whine, a plea for him to hurry up again. You look up at him and study the way his eyes are tightly closed and his hair is falling into them. His expression, though, is what you will never forget, for as long as you live. That sweet sliver of despair, the kind that is only understood when one is on the brink of strong pleasure and doesn't ever want it to end. It is caged on those features, locked up against the red in his cheeks, the flushed pink that takes a hold of his ears, his neck. It makes you feel your end swiftly burning through you, every pass of his hips, every sinful push of his cock making it sear faster and faster through your veins, until you cannot possibly hold onto it any longer.
"Matthew!" you gasp, eyes flying open as you stare sightlessly at the ceiling. You are vaguely aware that he has opened his eyes as is staring at you, vaguely aware of his muttered curse and his increased tempo. Mostly, you are aware of your own bliss as you selfishly careen into it, shivering out what you swear is the most erotic orgasm you've ever had, at least until you have the next. Your back arches further and you press your hips tightly against his thrusting ones and you moan again, fingers tightly grasping his forearms. You know he is following you because you feel him pulse inside you and his voice, it all but shreds right through you as he breaks off into a muttering, stumbling mess of voiced emotion.
You shatter indulgently, fall back, pupils dilated and heart thrumming. You watch your lover release your lower back, which he has kept a firm grasp of since then, and instead move his hands to the pillow by your head. He hovers over you, face close to yours as he watches your expression with full, bright eyes. The remnants of passion absolutely tears through you in the most delicious way, but even as your orgasms splutter out and die, Matthew still thrusts smoothly into you, making the zinging sensations of bliss tickle down your sensitive bodies.
Good. That is all you can think. He feels good on top of you, inside you. His warmth feels good. His kiss feels good. His eyes and the way they make you feel are good. You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck, and kiss him back wholeheartedly. One of your hands dive down to splay over his butt and you follow the haphazard way his hips move, shakily, subserviently into yours. His cock is pliable, soft flesh now but it still feels good to have him within you and you sigh out against his lips.
He gently nibbles on your bottom lip and your eyes slip closed, enjoying the uplifted, flying sensation of his kiss. You are both hot messes, both wet and sweaty and hot, both in need of a shower. And so you kiss him back for a long moment, and when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, you smile you at him and watch his cheeks flare to life.
"Shower?" is all you have the energy to ask, and even though you know the idea pleases him, Matthew pauses. He lowers his body just beside yours, pulling you very close. Then he whispers a shy, "Not yet." And his words make you smile wider. You snuggle closer to him, tangling your legs around him, splaying your fingers over his back, and nod.
All in due time, you think. For now, you are both content to remain wrapped up in each other's arms.