Chapter Text
Usually, Gale puts a stop to the conversation before it reaches this point. Usually, he has a cautioning hand on Clove’s arm, and he’s using the most soothing voice he can conjure as he tries to gently re-frame everything that comes out of Lorroakan’s mouth to sound less like something that will piss Clove off. Usually, he ends up excusing them both on her behalf and tugging her away, taking her somewhere far away and quiet and unobtrusive where Clove can vent her frustrations at any volume she chooses, and maybe even make out with him afterwards, and if he’s very lucky, get a little mean about it. Usually, this goes… differently.
Except. Well.
Gale is a bit drunk. Somewhat drunk. Pretty drunk.
Certainly drunk enough to not be on his best behavior for the work Christmas party, and yeah, sure, maybe Clove should have cut him off, but she just thought he deserved to let loose a little.
It was fine until now, anyway. He was just a little giggly, a little overly flirtatious, a little silly. Harmless. Clove thought it was fun. Cute, even. Except now he is too drunk to play his usual role, and the scene is rapidly becoming less cute.
His hand is resting on the small of her back instead of her arm, nudging her on rather than holding her back, and instead of redirecting when Lorroakan says something condescending, Gale just… giggles. It’s fortunate that Clove knows it’s not because he thinks anyone speaking to her like this is funny in and of itself. Clove knows that Gale is actually giggling because Lorroakan’s tone has turned Clove into a ticking time bomb, and Gale knows that, and Lorroakan does not. Five glasses of wine down, Gale finds amusement in a lot of things that he wouldn’t sober. It’s one of Clove’s favorite things about a drunk Gale. Usually.
Except then Clove–who is also, in her defense, a tad drunk–inevitably snaps and tells Lorroakan to go fuck himself, and Gale just… laughs, hard, and it’s at this point that Clove finally realizes she has made a mistake. Multiple mistakes. Many mistakes.
She grabs Gale’s hand, mumbles a rushed and utterly insincere apology, and then she flees, a still giggling Gale in tow. They can’t stick around at this party, that’s for sure. They did their duty: showed up, got drunk, caused chaos. It’s time to call it quits.
Clove clamps a hand over Gale’s mouth as she gets their coats from the coat check, muttering yet another, marginally more sincere apology to the attendant, and then as soon as they’re out the door, in the well manicured and gaudy front entrance of whatever ridiculous hotel they’re currently at, Clove lets go of Gale’s hand so she can double over, hands on her knees, and laugh so hard she nearly falls over.
“Gale, you’re going to get fucking fired.”
“Oh, hardly,” Gale says with a wave of his hand, still giggling. “It would be worth it, anyway.”
Clove straightens with a knowing look. “You enjoyed that enough to lose your job over it, did you?”
Gale is flushed from the wine already, but his cheeks darken further as he stares at her. “You have a way with words, and the bastard did have it coming. And, well, I’ve always had a fondness for you telling people off on my behalf.”
Clove smiles. “Yeah, I know. I forgot it makes you such a horny drunk, though. It’s cute.”
“I’m not drunk.”
Clove’s grin widens. “Gale, what’s my job?”
Gale flushes again, and doesn’t answer.
Clove crowds his space, and tilts his chin up to her with a single thumb. “What was I doing the first time I told someone off for you?
To his credit, he only squirms a little bit. “Bartending.”
“So I’d know when someone’s drunk, wouldn’t I?”
“Yes.”
Clove rewards the answer with a kiss, deep and searching, gripping the back of his head to guide him exactly where she wants him. Gale gives a high whine, melting into her, the wine making him needy and soft so immediately, and it hits Clove’s system like an electric shock, all that sudden heat landing heavy in her core.
“Fuck,” Clove swears, nipping at his lip in frustration. “Let’s go home.”
They barely make it a few blocks before Gale drags Clove into an alley and tries to convince her to let him get his hand down her pants, which Clove cannot deny is a tempting offer, but it is simply too cold to be even partially undressed outside.
Clove makes the mistake, however, of letting Gale make out with her in his attempt to convince her. It’s a sore test of her patience, every swipe of her tongue into his mouth, every whimper on his lips, the wanton way he’s groping her anywhere he can reach, so ready to drunkenly tear her clothes off in an alley and so fucking distraught about it when she won’t let him, but Clove can be stubborn, too.
“Clove,” he whines, not bitchy but close to it.
“You can survive ten minutes of walking,” Clove says fondly.
Gale kisses the smile off her face with indignance, and his fingers trace the waistband of her jeans in a gentle but insistent plea. When Clove groans softly, his hands slip up under her coat and her shirt, roving over her bare skin, gripping at her side, trying to press his advantage.
The chill of his hands makes Clove shiver. “You won’t convince me by making me colder, lover,” she laughs breathlessly.
Gale grunts, frustrated, and buries his face in her shoulder. Clove dips her head, bringing her lips close to his ear so she can lower her voice.
“You know, there was a time when a fifteen minute walk while wine-drunk and horny was not the world ending crisis it is right now.”
Gale’s frigid hands continue their wandering despite her complaints, palming her greedily over her bra. “Well, you have, historically, allowed me to get away with this type of thing.”
“Should I not have done that?”
“I think…” Gale trails off, tugging the cup of her bra down to brush the pad of one ice cold thumb across her nipple. Clove shivers hard. “... that you enjoy the attention too much to genuinely wish for me to stop.”
“Gale,” Clove says with as much gravity as she can muster, wrestling his hands out from under her shirt. “I want to enjoy your attention at home, where I can enjoy it properly. So move.”
Gale does not move. Clove retreats from him a few steps, tugs on his hand, even yanks once, but he does not budge. He is swaying ever so slightly in his drunkenness, trying to appear obstinate and still looking for all the world like he’s holding back a laugh, but nevertheless he plants his unsteady feet, and lifts his chin in stubborn defiance.
“Gale.”
Her tone makes him bite his lip. “You could always carry me.”
Clove snorts. “No.”
“I really rather like that idea, though.”
“Mhm. I’m sure you do.”
“You’re… very strong.”
At this very obvious and half-assed attempt at flattery, at this entire ridiculous drunken game they are playing, Clove finally has to fucking laugh. She buries her face in her hands and heaves silently until her stomach hurts. Occasionally, she can hear Gale giggling along with her. “God, you’re fucking… impossible,” she wheezes. “And you enjoy it, don’t you? You secretly love being a fucking brat, and being drunk just brings it out of you, doesn’t it?”
Clove does not miss the way Gale’s expression flickers at her wording, here. The heat in her core redoubles.
After a very long, almost agonizing few seconds, Gale reaches down, slowly, brazenly, in broad moonlight, and feigns adjusting his cock in his pants. His hand lingers far longer than necessary, a filthy little sigh on his lips as he strokes himself unsubtly, and then he smiles brilliantly at her. “I do like getting what I want.”
Clove raises a falsely unimpressed brow. “You like being a brat?”
Gale licks his lips, head tilted, deliberating. Then, right in front of all the brick and the moon and Clove’s disbelieving eyes, he sinks to his knees.
“I think you’ll find that in the right context, I can actually be quite obedient.”
It’s a miracle Clove can find the air to form words with. The whole world seems to have run out. “What context is that?”
“Bringing you pleasure.”
Clove’s chest heaves, and one hundred and one images flip through her mind–the things she could do to him, the things she could make him do to her, the ways this could go, progress, escalate. Fuck. She has felt the draw of this ever since she met him, touched herself to thoughts of it often enough to wonder if she should bring it up, and now Gale has led them here himself, persistent at every turn, just sober enough to be self-possessed, just tipsy enough to have some extra courage, and just Gale enough to do something this fucking insane.
“You want to bring me pleasure?”
“Yes. More than anything.”
“You want to obey me?”
A pause. “If that would bring you pleasure.”
“Then stand up.”
Clove has never struck this tone with Gale, never lowered her voice this far, never tried to sound menacing. Not once. Not since the beginning, when she used it only in his defense. This is reserved for her most testing customers. This is reserved for making people afraid– a skill Clove has always been grateful for, but now, watching Gale stand up, legs trembling, she has a whole new appreciation for it.
“If you obey me, and you bring me pleasure, what would that make you, Gale? What do you want to be for me?”
Gale swallows audibly. “Ah. Well, I hadn’t…”
“Hadn’t thought about it? Oh, I don’t believe that,” Clove says softly.
Another swallow, but this one is to steel himself, chin lifting another defiant inch. “You could show me what I am to you. If I’m here to serve you, it seems fitting you should decide.”
At the word serve, Clove breaks. She takes an automatic, hungry step towards him, but then pauses for one more brief moment, tilting her head at him in a silent question.
Gale nods.
Clove moves on pure instinct. She closes the distance between them quickly, spins Gale by his shoulders, and shoves him into the wall with no small amount of force. She pins both his wrists behind his back with one hand, and uses her other hand to turn his head so she can press his cheek to the cold brick.
Gale is panting hard, nearly gasping, and Clove’s head is buzzing so loud it’s difficult to fully appreciate the raggedness of it, the evidence of just how much this is doing for him. Clove isn’t all that drunk on liquor, but she is already incredibly drunk on this.
She lets the sound of their labored breathing fill the silence for her as she collects her thoughts, trying to settle into this unfamiliar role and shake the creeping nerves. Gale has trusted her from the beginning, from before he had any good reason to, and she feels the full weight of it now; the heady and heavy rush of knowing how much he is willing to put in her hands, literally and metaphorically; the many countless hours she has spent with him, furthering his trust, earning it, earning this, and now…
“Gale,” she says finally, almost a sigh, teeth grazing the shell of his ear.
Gale shudders, from his name alone.
… her reward.
“I think there’s only one name good enough for someone who gets on their knees in an alleyway for me when I didn’t even ask them to,” Clove murmurs, pinning his cheek with her own so she can grab a handful of his hair with her newly free hand and tug just hard enough to make him whimper. “Someone desperate enough, needy enough, pathetic enough, slutty enough. That’s what you want to be for me, Gale. My slut.”
Gale thrashes at this, because of course he does. With as limited movement as his head has access to at the moment, though, the thrashing feels much more like he simply is nuzzling her cheek, so, naturally, Clove nuzzles him back. Stoking the flames. Taunting him.
“Say it for me, Gale.”
She tugs again on his scalp just as he opens his mouth to refuse, and he yelps, then snaps his mouth shut, like the pain might make it slip out by accident.
“My slut, my whore, my angel,” Clove coos.
This, at last, makes him moan. He opens his mouth, and whether it’s to agree or disagree doesn’t matter, because Clove twists quickly to capture his lips with hers. Gale whines into her mouth, offers his tongue willingly, but when Clove tightens her grip one last time in his hair, he gasps a sob against her lips.
“Fuck, Clove–”
“Say it.”
“Your slut,” he gasps, and his face flushes hot against the brick, and a shiver passes through him like the ghost of his dignity. “I want to be your slut. Make me yours, Clove, please–”
Clove releases him, hair and wrists both, spins him around, and crushes him back up against the wall so she can kiss him with as much force as she can funnel through her lips, trying to devour him enough that he’ll feel taken, making sure her little slut knows he’s earned his role.
Gale is hard, screamingly hard as he ruts against her thigh, and he’s moaning far too loudly for the open air of an alleyway. He’d drop to his knees again if Clove wanted him to, and she does, at this point, rather want him to, cold be damned, but that’s just not what she set out to prove. The point wasn’t to make Gale call himself a slut and then shove his face in her cunt, as much as they’d both enjoy it; the point was to get Gale to fucking move.
And Clove, if she is to truly do this with him, simply cannot start by letting him get away with being a brat.
The kiss comes to a slow, natural conclusion as they both come up for air, and Gale moves to thread his hand into Clove’s hair, but she stops him. She disentangles herself from him very gently–so gently, in fact, that Gale does not expect her to back away from him at the end. The sudden loss of her–of her warmth, her contact, her affection–makes him inhale sharply.
Clove bites back her own ragged breath, but she feels his loss just as acutely.
She holds out a hand to him. “Come.”
No yanking. No tugging. No pleading.
Gale takes her hand, and he comes.
“You trust me?” Clove asks softly.
“Yes.”
“You know I’ll take care of you?”
“Beyond a doubt.”
Clove kissed him one more time, soft, grateful.
“Then let’s go home.”
It’s not a very long walk, and despite the obvious tension, it’s peaceful. Hand in hand, not rushing because this is a moment worth savoring, flitting between pleasant reveries of what just happened and even more pleasant daydreams of what may be to come. Clove wonders if they’re imagining similar things.
They must be, because the moment the front door clicks shut behind them, Gale turns to her, arms outstretched, and Clove is already stepping towards him to drag him into a kiss.
He doesn’t seem to notice that she is walking him backwards as they strip off their coats. In fact, Gale is so busy having Clove’s tongue down his throat that he stumbles when the backs of his heels hit the base of the stairs, and Clove’s quick reflexes are the only thing to keep him from toppling over. He is utterly unphased by it, but Clove reckons that since his distraction is her fault, he has earned the right to the favor he asked her for earlier.
“Gale,” she murmurs. “Hold on to me.”
Gale wraps his arms around her neck obediently through his obvious rising confusion, and Clove leans down to scoop him up in one easy motion, one arm under his legs, the other supporting his back.
“Oh, goodness!” Gale exclaims.
Clove smiles, and shakes her head. Goodness. “You asked to be carried,” she reminds him.
“I know. You just… caught me off guard,” Gale says, trying his best to act unconcerned, but he tenses in her arms the moment she starts up the stairs. A bad liar, as usual.
“Do you think I’m going to drop you, lover?” Clove murmurs into his ear.
Gale shakes his head, but he squeaks when Clove adjusts him in her arms, giving himself away again.
Clove reaches the top of the stairs, and stops. “You really think I would let you fall?” she asks softly.
“No,” he whispers.
Clove tsks at him quietly as she walks into the bedroom, flicks the light on, and deposits him carefully on the edge of the bed. She squats between his knees, hands resting lightly on the tops of his thighs. “I thought you trusted me.”
“I do.”
“I thought I took good care of you.”
Gale makes a pained sound. “You do.”
Clove eyes him cautiously, growing more somber. “This is alright, still?”
“Yes. Very much so. I didn’t… I truly didn’t think you would drop me. I just got a little dizzy, is all.”
Something achingly tender unfurls in Clove’s chest at his earnestness, and her eyes go misty. “Yeah. I believe you, baby. Thank you.”
“You know, you…”
Gale trails off, suddenly bashful. Clove tilts her head.
“This may just be the wine talking, but I think knowing you wouldn’t drop me is the reason I want… this with you. I know that, practically speaking, I’m giving up control–or giving it away, rather–but it feels a lot less like giving anything up, and more like… receiving something. Safety, perhaps. Security in the simple knowledge that you would not let bad things happen to me. I know that, no matter what we do or what games we play, you will make it good. Even if the things we do scare me, I am… willing to be nervous, so long as it’s with you. You won’t let it be bad, Clove, and I am… I am so grateful for you. For that. And this.”
Clove has to sink her forehead down onto his thigh for a moment. “Christ, Gale.”
“Was it the wine?” he whispers.
This gets a laugh out of her, even though she’s about two seconds from tears and so fucking floored she almost doesn’t know how to continue.
“No. That wasn’t the wine. That was just you, lover.” Clove takes a few measured breaths, lets a few tears leak out, trying to stabilize.
It’s a different kind of trust, is all. There’s the trust required to put his body in her hands, to believe she will keep the bad things from him, know she will take care of him, but there’s a deeper trust there, too–hard earned and carefully protected–that gives her these impromptu speeches, these little glimpses into Gale’s soul, his thoughts, his heart. He has told her before that Mystra was not one for verbal affection, and Clove cannot conceive of missing out on how Gale loves so hard, in all ways, but particularly with his words. For all her blunt honesty, Clove will never match him.
Finally, Clove looks up at him, gathering his hands in hers. “Thank you. I’m fucking honored.”
Gale leans down to meet her for a kiss, letting the overwhelm melt to familiar comfort, and they both sigh.
“Speaking of not letting bad things happen to you, you should pick a safe word.”
It takes him a few seconds. “Strawberry.”
Clove nods. “Strawberry. That’s good.”
A silence stretches out between them. Clove strokes the top of his thigh thoughtfully.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Gale asks finally.
Clove grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you ask that question in this context before.”
“I’m not sure we’ve ever been in this context before.”
“Well, I meant, like, in bed, but yeah, I guess you’re right.”
There’s another brief pause.
“I know what I want,” Gale offers, sensing her own idea is not immediately forthcoming.
Ever so helpful, her Gale is. Clove quirks a brow at him. “Do you?”
“I’d like to be on my knees again.”
Clove starts working on his pants. “Mhm. Doing what?” she asks disinterestedly.
“Anything you want.”
She nudges his hips up so she can slide his pants off. “What if I wanted you to do nothing?”
“Well, that…” Gale swallows. “That would be fine.”
Such a terrible fucking liar.
“Oh, that’s good,” Clove purrs. “Because I want you to do nothing, my needy little slut. I want you to sit, just like you are, and I want you to close your eyes, and relax, and if you’re very patient and very good, maybe you can come down my throat when I’ve had my fill of being on my knees for you.”
There’s nothing covering Gale’s cock anymore; nothing concealing the way it reacts to Clove’s words. Not that her having gotten his cock’s attention so thoroughly would have been a secret anyway, because Gale whimpers, out loud, like a slut, but half-mast to fully hard in the space of one sentence is still a nice touch.
“Can I–can I touch you?”
“Once your eyes are closed. Are you going to be able to keep your eyes closed, or do I need to blindfold you?”
Gale gives this a long moment of adorably serious consideration, then just… nods.
“... Gale? Yes to which one?”
“Oh! Blindfold me.”
They both dissolve into giggles at this. Gale is pink as anything when Clove returns to him with a soft t-shirt that she ties around his head, and his giggles are still in the process of petering out as she tugs his shirt over his head, undresses herself, and runs one more secret errand before sinking to her knees in front of him again.
“Lover,” she says with palpable affection.
“Slut,” he corrects swiftly.
Clove rolls her eyes. “Are you going to touch me or not?”
Gale reaches out blindly, tentatively, and pokes her cheek first before finding his way into her hair. He holds it back from her face, scratches gently at her scalp, and sighs.
Clove runs her hands up the insides of his thighs with a sigh of her own. She takes the opportunity, while Gale is quiet and content, to touch him a lot, covering every inch of particularly intimate skin that is not his cock, multiple times over. All the way from his waist to his toes, the expanse of his chest, the soft swell of his belly. She kisses his hips, his thighs, the hair trailing down from his navel. She caresses his balls with a slow, gentle massage. She brushes his taint with her index finger, once by ‘accident’, twice on purpose, and on the third time, Gale squirms.
“Do you like that?” she murmurs.
“I want your mouth.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Clove.” He says it like a warning, but not a very convincing one.
“Answer me, and you can have my mouth.”
“Yes,” he squeaks.
Clove sucks just the head of his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue lazily, and eases off with her finger. He liked it, though, and it doesn’t take long for Gale to forget his worries. The hands in her hair tighten incrementally as she works her way down his shaft, and Gale moans like the spoiled, carefree slut he is, and she hasn’t worked him up so much that he’s close to coming yet, anyway. She has time. They have time.
All the time in the world, really. The lube sitting by Clove’s knee is just her being impatient.
It’s just that they’ve never done it before, and Clove has thought about it for fucking ever, and if there’s one thing she wants out of this new role, it’s this. She wants to take Gale apart this way. She wants to feel him, finger him, fuck him.
This final thought makes her groan around his cock, just as her nose presses into his hair, and Gale’s hips jerk. Clove makes no move to hold him down. Instead, her one, insistent finger returns in one firm stroke, and this time, Gale is too far gone to pretend he doesn’t like it. He moans, and uses his grip on her hair to tug her urgently back down onto him. Clove allows it, hums happily, and then her finger slips lower.
All it takes is the lightest amount of pressure, and Gale’s cock pulses once in her mouth at the same time he gasps her name, and then they both freeze. Gale is breathing hard, cheeks flushed dark and appealing, clinging to her hair like his life depends on it, but… he doesn’t try to escape her finger.
Clove pulls off of him slowly. “Gale.”
“Fuck, that’s, I–”
“Have you ever put anything up your ass?”
He shakes his head.
“Not even a finger?”
“No.”
“I want to try it with you.”
“I’m scared,” he admits in a small voice, miserably, as if it’s a crime worthy of punishment. All his bravery tonight, and Gale would probably still call himself a coward for being nervous about Clove fingering him.
“Be scared with me, then,” Clove murmurs. “I’ve never done this either, but we’d figure it out together. Just one finger, and I won’t go very far. I know you could take it, my angel, and I bet you’d make such pretty noises for me.”
Gale exhales slowly like he’s trying to calm himself down, but his body stays rigid. He nods once, tiny and stiff. Not the answer Clove was hoping for.
She removes her finger, brings her hand up to instead knead once more at his balls, kisses the tip of his cock comfortingly, and Gale’s body finally sags with what she suspects is both relief and disappointment.
“Have you ever thought about it?” she asks softly.
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” she mutters before swallowing him down again.
It takes a few fumbled starts and a lot of cursing, but this, Gale can find it in himself to do, because no matter the situation, Gale can find his words when he needs them. “I’ve thought about– fuck!– what you must feel when I fuck you, the way it must feel to be… pressed into, invaded. ”
Clove growls as her cunt throbs. She takes him deep enough to make her eyes water, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.
“I’ve wanted to try it, on my own, just with my finger but I–I’m always too afraid. But I fantasize about it, sometimes. And in my head, it’s always you, Clove. You spreading me open, or teasing me, or–or fucking me.”
Clove comes off of him with a gasp, and the heat and ferocity in her own voice takes her breath away. “Gale, take the blindfold off. Look at me.”
He obeys, and she watches as his eyes sweep from his glistening cock to her wet lips to the tears in her eyes and, finally, to the bottle of lube tucked against her knee. His eyes are plastered wide with increasing awe.
“I’d do that for you,” Clove says, growing ever more urgent. “I’d make it good for you. That’s what you told me, isn’t it? That I make things nice, even when you’re scared?”
Gale stares at her for another long moment, then, once more, he exhales slowly. “One finger?”
“One.”
“Alright. Do it.”
Clove raises an eyebrow at him.
“Please,” he amends.
“Good boy,” she purrs, and Gale tries to huff hard enough to conceal his blush while she lubes up her finger. “Do you want to lay down?” she asks softly.
“No.”
“Scoot closer to the edge of the bed, then.”
Gale obeys, and then he relinquishes the hold on her hair so he can lean back on his hands. Clove hums appreciatively, lips sealed once more around his cock. She trusts him to handle his nerves, but she also figures relying on the blowjob as a distraction can’t hurt, and she knows how to get Gale absorbed in a blowjob very quickly by now.
Only a few minutes of steady work, and a flush is creeping across Gale’s chest and up his neck, and he throws his head back with a groan she knows is frustration, because she has not followed through yet. That’s alright. She’ll take impatience over fear. For now.
Despite his eagerness, when Clove presses her finger to him again, Gale jumps .
“Cold, sorry!” he gasps, and Clove hums in what she hopes is an apologetic way, rubbing her finger in little circles around his hole to warm the lube up.
And oh, what a delicious little slut it turns him into. His hips seem torn between thrusting up into her mouth and down onto her finger, and his breath is barely making it past his throat, anticipation pulling him taut as a piano string.
“Fuck, please, Clove, I want it, I need it–”
Clove pushes, very tentatively, and Gale snaps his hips down, and then her finger is inside him to the first joint.
Clove would apologize, but her mouth is full, and besides, Gale is so fucking hot– inside, outside, his voice, his precum, his sweat, his existence, his reaction.
“Fuck!” he shouts as his right elbow gives out on him and he is forced to heave himself up onto his left arm alone, gripping the sheets with white knuckles, hips still stalled out in their indecision, chest heaving.
No, Clove is far too smug to apologize, too busy growing very quickly fond of the way he feels, the tightness of him, the heat, and then she moves her finger, pulls it out just the tiniest bit, and Gale sucks in a breath, goes stiff, and they both freeze.
Clove locks eyes with him, cock still halfway in her mouth. “Mm?”
“It’s–it’s alright, just strange. Keep moving, do it again. I’ll get–” Gale breaks off on a shaky breath as she pumps her finger slowly, still only to the first joint. “I’ll get used to it,” he sighs. “It’s already getting better. It’s… god, it’s good.”
If Clove could smile, she would, but she gets back to work instead, which he probably appreciates more. Gale’s hips are confused for only a few more minutes, and then he finds a gentle rhythm with her, rising to meet her mouth and sinking to meet her finger. Eventually, he holds himself on two hands again, thrusting with a little more intent, moaning with every single one, and Clove loves giving him head but she’d do fucking anything to be able to talk at the same time.
She wants to tell him how beautiful he is, and how beautiful he sounds. She wants to tell him he’s the most perfect little whore she could ask for, all hers for the taking, all hers forever. She wants to tell him how many times she’s imagined this, too; how long she’s wanted it; how she’ll try her fucking heart out to make it good. She wants to tell him she’s proud of him, and she thinks he’s brave. She wants to tell him he’s allowed to come, if he wants to, but then again, maybe he already knows.
“Clove, more,” comes his desperate, raspy plea, hips falling out of synchronicity with her because he started rushing. Clove hums her disapproval, and he collects himself, finds their pacing again, then clarifies. “I want it deeper. I want more of your finger. Please. Please, Clove, fuck. More.”
Clove feels her own nerves twinge in her gut, but he trusts her, and he wants this, and she can be brave for him too, so she pushes. She expects Gale to tell her when to stop pushing, but he doesn’t. He just moans, long and low and broken, and his cock pulses insistently inside her mouth, and when she starts fucking him again, this time to the second joint, his legs begin to shake.
Gale forces his shaky legs into motion in an effort to scoot closer to her, though, trying to hang his ass over the edge of the bed to give her better leverage, but then something in the change of angle does something, and Gale’s body spasms, his back arches, and he comes down her throat with no warning at all, not even a shout, in total silence.
That’s certainly a first.
Clove is lucky for her quick reflexes or she’d be choking on him, and he seems to come forever. Every instinct in her wants to moan as she swallows him down, again and again, but she finds herself somewhat reluctant to break the silence.
When his cock has finally given its last throb, and Clove has released him from her mouth and slipped her finger slowly and carefully out of him, Gale speaks again.
Or tries to.
“Clove, that was–”
“Lay down.”
Gale’s back hits the mattress so hard it expels a little huff from his lungs, and then he scrambles up the mattress with all the speed his trembling limbs can muster as Clove climbs onto the bed over him.
“Me first,” she murmurs as she straddles his head, and Gale hums with near delirious pleasure as she sinks down onto his face.
Then, finally, Clove tells him. She tells him everything she wanted to say but couldn’t, every thought she has about the experience they just shared, all the praise she had stored up in her chest, the admonishments she can now deliver with a hint more force.
Gale is quiet, listening to her obediently, until her first orgasm rolls over her in one brutal wave and Clove is decidedly not silent about it, and then he grips her thighs to keep her firmly in place, and groans into her cunt at a volume that makes her shiver as she is still trying to reorient herself.
If Clove had to guess, she would say she is not performing in this role quite like Gale intended her to. She’s been highly distractible and a little bit all over the place, and she’ll have time to work out how to do this for him properly, but for right now, all she wants is to enjoy him. Her Gale. Her slut. Her lover. Giving all of himself to her, in new and inventive ways, every day, over and over.
Clove is quieter as she hunts for her second, much more focused on the slow roll of her hips and his eager tongue and her tender reveries, and eventually Gale’s moans fade to a soft, constant hum.
When Clove feels her orgasm on the horizon, she reaches down and strokes the top of his head.
“You’ve been perfect, lover.”
Gale whines as his nails bite into her thighs, and Clove comes for him again, legs shaking so hard she topples forward before it’s over.
Gale eases her off of him, and as soon as Clove hits the mattress he seems to want nothing more than to climb inside her skin, which Clove gets, but she drags herself out of bed anyway, cleans them both up as quick as she can before crawling back into Gale’s open arms. It takes a few tries to settle on a position they’re both happy cuddling in. They land with Gale’s head on Clove’s chest, legs intertwined with hers, hand resting on her stomach. He’s still breathing pretty hard.
Again, Clove gets it.
“That was intense.”
Gale nods emphatically.
“You surprised me,” Clove admits quietly. “In the alley.”
“I know. I’m sorry if it was startling. I found this to be a difficult thing to bring up… subtly.”
“I think maybe you’re just not a very subtle person.”
He pauses. “You like that about me,” he notes finally, with a hint of pride. Nailing another quiz he studied for.
Clove laughs. “Yeah. I do. It worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes. You were wonderful.”
“Eh. I’ll get better.”
Gale cranes his neck to peer up at her, brow furrowed. “You’re an awfully harsh critic.”
“No, I’m just honest. I think I could be good at it. This is just… less intuitive to me than sex usually is. This feels like performance, and sex just feels like … I don’t know. Doing what feels good. Plus, when you mess up during sex it’s funny, but if I fuck this up, I’ll feel, like, fucking evil or something probably.”
“Wouldn’t the knowledge that you are not, in fact, evil mitigate that feeling somewhat? I certainly would not have asked if I harboured any suspicion that you were evil.”
Clove shrugs. “Maybe. I’m just saying this feels like higher stakes, so it feels important to be good at it, and tonight… I don’t know, I’ve never done this before.”
“Me neither.”
“Yeah, but you’re a drama queen by nature.”
Gale rolls his eyes. “I think it is intuitive, Clove. I think you’re already good at it, but if it helps at all, I am very much interested in taking this… slowly. I have nerves of my own to contend with.”
Clove lets out a shaky breath, and nods. “Okay. Slow.”
A long silence. “I do hope we’ll try to recreate whatever happened with your finger at the end there relatively soon, though.”
Clove laughs, rolls him off her and onto his other side, following him so she can crush him back to her chest. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”