Panther Play

I've been thinking for a while about Nelson's comment and blush to the list about written sex scenes... and the end result was that I had to have a try with one, although Rolf and I are STRONG believers in a row of dots and a happy breakfast time.

Brace yourselves. And bear in mind, (pointing at Nelson) she made me do it!! ;)

Title: Panther Play

Warnings: X rated.

Sometimes he gets that Look.

It's very different to the lazy, Sunday morning type mood when we wake up with nowhere we have to be and nothing we have to get done, and we've got the time to talk and to play. Or the rare occasions where I'm upset or anxious and he knows how to take my mind right off it, the most intense form of contact and comfort that convinces me he's there and I'm his. And it's not the same as that thoughtful expression he wears when he's watched me doing something or wearing something that's caught his attention and I know as soon as he's got me alone he'll pounce. Or those occasions when he's just simply in the mood, whether playful or serious, whether it's four in the afternoon or three o clock in the morning, and he knows I'll never say no to him.

No, there's another look. It's almost panther like. Those hazel eyes get darker and steadier as they look at me, his head dips a little further forward between his shoulders, his movements slow down just slightly and become just a little more deliberate. Just a little more predatory. It's probably something subtle enough that only I'd see it, but it makes my neck prickle and my heart quicken without him even touching me.

He was leaning back in his chair and rolling the stem of a brandy glass gently between his long fingers when I first saw it this evening - that one look that shot a bolt of electricity straight downwards through me. We'd been in the restaurant for a while, it was one of our favourites, and we'd chosen the meal together, sharing dishes as we liked to do here. Some complicated steak dish with a delicate sauce, a fresh salad and some chocolate torte thing which I could still taste through my brandy as I watched him. We had actually been celebrating in a mild sort of way, he'd concluded a project that afternoon which had been a long and difficult one, but there doesn't have to be much of a reason to want to spend an evening together. The brandy was warm inside me, a pleasant heat that went with the open fire in the hearth at the far side of the restaurant, and I leaned on the table, propping my elbows to cradle the glass between both hands, knowing too that he wasn't impatient. It made me intensely aware of myself, although he wasn't by any means staring- how my fingers moved on the glass, how my crossed legs under the table brushed against one of his, all under that look. By the time he signalled the waiter for the bill I was intensely aware of exactly what that expression on his face does to me, and more than ready to leave.

We'd walked, since this is one of our favourite restaurants in the village, and in the dusk outside on the pavement Damien shouldered into his brown leather jacket and took my hand, his fingers winding through mine. The entire village was surrounded by may blossom as the hawthorne bloomed, and the scent was heavy in the air wherever you went, you breathed it in with the evening taste of rain to come and the falling darkness. The village was quiet as we walked, down the small row of shops, past the war memorial and the church yard, just the occasional car sweeping past with the flash of headlights. Damien's stride is more measured than mine, longer and more centred. I matched my pace to his, listening to our footfall together on the slabbed pavement. A steady rhythm, quiet and unhurried, the only sound I could hear on the street other than the last few chirps of birds settling for the night.

We crossed the road just past the church yard and walked the last few houses down to our own, turning in at the driveway. Damien felt in his pocket for the keys and unlocked the door, letting me in ahead of him. Anastasia wound around my ankles in the quiet of the hallway, butting her head against my ankle and purring. I bent and picked her up, carrying her through to the kitchen to fill her bowl. Neither of us had turned on the light. I was aware of Damien heading upstairs, the distinctive click of the wardrobe opening in our room and the chink of a hangar as he put his jacket away. I slid out of mine, hung it over the stairpost where he'd complain about it in the morning and left Anastasia munching.

He was sitting on the bed, tie off, shirt open, unfastening his watch, and I could feel his eyes following me as I heeled off my shoes and began to work on my shirt. He held out his hands silently and I went to him, stood and let him do it for me, working up button by button until it hung loose and he slid it back over my shoulders. Then he put his hands on my hips and pulled me down astride his lap, a slightly rougher and more demanding action than usual but I didn't mind at all. I linked my hands at the nape of his neck and surveyed him for a minute, his dark hair escaping from its gel and hanging into his eyes, the heavy lines of muscle that run from his neck out into his shoulders and down the curves of his arms. It's too early in the year for him to be tanned but his skin holds a little of the honey brown tone through the winter, even in the dim light here my skin showed white against his. His hands were still resting on my hips, feeling for the line of the bone underneath, his thumb and forefinger spanning on either side, and his eyes were serious. I bent my head and kissed him gently, and once our mouths touched that was the end of coherence. My hands found their way up and into his hair and his hands massaged my hips, pulling me closer, until he lay back flat on the bed with me still kneeling over him. I pulled back and sat, hands resting on him, slightly out of breath with the exertion. He put a hand up to my chest and stroked, one thumb running lightly over a nipple, sending another bolt through me. In response I bent over him, licked across the plane of his chest and found one of his nipples with my mouth, sucking gently.

He's as sensitive as all hell there. I felt him gasp as much as heard it, his hand cupped my head and held it as I worked, gyrating slowly where I sat over him, aware of his other hand biting into my bicep, the fingers tightening slowly. It was a while before I paused, lifting my head, and his palms ran down my back to my buttocks, cupping them and pulling me hard against him, making me arch back like a cat. For a moment we pressed together, his hips moving in the same easy rhythm as mine, then he reared up and put me on my feet, getting up himself to strip completely.

He is, even if I do say so myself, pretty damn gorgeous.

I got rid of the rest of my clothes, watching him pause to open the window and let a rush of fresh and cool air into the room. It should have felt cold- it actually felt delicious. The room was still sunwarm from the afternoon and the may scent was still in the air. Damien folded his clothes and put them on the chair, big and angled in the semi darkness, I could see the familiar planes and lines of him. How many years since we first lay down together? A few. And the sight of him still made me swallow. He held out his arms to me, inviting, and I stepped into them, lifting my face for a moment to neck, slowly and unhurriedly. From this angle where he's taller than me he has the weight and strength I don't, he searched my mouth thoroughly while his arms kept me from simply buckling underneath him. I was dizzied when I turned my face away, feeling his lips feather across my cheek, knowing very well what I wanted. He leaned back against the wall with a bass groan as I slid slowly down to my knees at his feet, running both hands up his thighs and over his buttocks. He was more than half hard and his cock jumped at the touch of my lips, he tipped his head back and I heard a few more involuntary sounds as I took him into my mouth, and then deeper down into my throat.

He always says I look too innocent to have learned how to do this. He doesn't often argue at the time though. His eyes were wild and his fingers were tight in my hair when I let him go, dropping a kiss on the flat line of his stomach as I got up but not wanting things to finish here. Not tonight. He grabbed me and pulled me back against him, and for a minute we ground against each other standing there against the wall, then I pulled at his hands and he steered me back towards the bed, breaking my fall and landing more or less on top of me. For some time we moved from position to position, rolling over, making total mayhem out of the duvet beneath us until Damien yanked it out of the way and dropped it onto the floor.

He's more vocal than I am, a series of deep growls and groans and mms usually provide an ongoing soundtrack whereas I tend to be too involved to make any comment at the time. He also likes to make love face to face, to see my eyes and to be able to reach my mouth, where I like to feel him against my back, the closeness and weight of him, the sense of possession that gives me- mostly we compromise, since the preference isn't THAT strong, but tonight I knew what it was I wanted and he didn't protest when I rolled over. Instead I felt his teeth worry at the nape of my neck as he leaned over me, then the slide of the bedside drawer, and I relaxed, resting my cheek on my arms, eyes closed.

"Yeah, make me do all the work." Damien teased me softly, running his fingers down the cleft of my buttocks. I squirmed a little, pleasurably, feeling the gentle inexorability of his lubed fingers work their way inside me, one at a time.

"You do it so well."

"Flattery will get you-"

"What?" I twisted my head to look back at him and he grinned, leaning forward to kiss me.

"Thoroughly sorted out."

"So I'd hope." I moved my hips slowly, working with his stroking fingers, then felt them exchanged for his cock. Gently, unhurriedly, filling me until muscles protested, a few seconds of fleeting discomfort before he felt me relax and began to move in a slow and easy rhythm. This was what I'd wanted all evening, from the moment I saw that look in the restaurant, and I wondered if that was what he'd been intent on too, but not for very long. Once he starts there's no awareness left to spare for anything but him and the intensity of sensation. He was taking his time, pausing occasionally to kiss and gently bite my shoulders, making me writhe underneath him until he was laughing, taking a firmer grip on me, rocking once more into me. I was out of breath, gripping the sheet in both hands when his arm slid under my hips, lifting me back to my knees. The sensation of him shifting inside me made me groan and came close to finishing me in itself, as he knew it would, but in this position his hand could reach around me. I arched up as he found me and began to stroke, aware he was timing himself to me and from the semi incomprehensible muttering against my shoulder he was past containment. I shifted, rocking back against him, knowing that was driving him as wild as was his touch on me, inside and out. I came first, and the spasms through me as I did were what finished him.

For some time we lay, Damien hot and heavy on my back, both of us dozing before he stirred and shifted to uncouple us. I muttered protest as he got up, padded into the bathroom for a moment and water ran. He had a washcloth in his hand when he padded back but I didn't have the energy or inclination to take it from him, and he did it all, lobbing it with annoying accuracy towards the linen basket when he was done. Nearly asleep I heard the whisper of the duvet as he shook it out, spreading it over us, and he lay down against me, one arm and leg hooked possessively over me, his breath against my ear. I turned my head to find him and kissed him blindly, aware of his palm rubbing slow and massaging circles over my spine.

How do I love him? Let me count the ways. First and foremost, the way that he looks at me in restaurants.

~ The End ~

Copyright Ranger 2010