She wakes and turns and stretches and — oh. Right. She's in Magnus’s bed. Last night they — she blushes. She went directly from shy glances to falling into bed. This bed. With Magnus, who is sound asleep beside her, taking up most of the mattress, snoring softly.
She looks out of the porthole window, in a different spot from the one in her quarters. She's in a different spot. She rolls toward him, laying flopped out on his back, and puts a hand on his chest. Anyone else, and she'd have just wasted away pining. (This is Magnus’s bed: don't think about Lup.) But he saw her and everything was suddenly easy.
Last night was rushed and excited, paying heed to their young frantic bodies. Now she has a moment to think and to look. Not that she hasn't seen him naked before; Magnus has no awkwardness about his body and strips at the least provocation. It's her, she's never been comfortable just looking. Really looking.
His hair is rumpled and his cheek has a wrinkle in it from the pillow. It's cute, she thinks; he's cute. He makes a little noise in the back of his throat and shifts slightly in the bed. She curls up against him and runs a hand through the hair on his chest, thumb brushing over a nipple. One corner of his mouth twitches in a smile.
She looks down; his erection peeks through the top edge of the sheet. A sly smile spreads across her face and she pushes the sheet down. His dick practically bounces up, but he still hasn't woken. When she circles a hand around the base and begins to stroke, his eyelids flutter.
When she slips her other hand between her own legs, her fingers come away wet and she has to bite her lip to keep from moaning aloud. She strokes him again, slowly, all the way to the tip, and his hips rock up with her hand, back down as she strokes down. But she lets go, rolling over and reaching into the drawer next to his bunk, fumbling for a condom amongst the hair ties, hard candies, and lip balms.
His eyes finally open as she’s rolling it on, and for a second she hesitates.
“Okay?” she asks, feeling herself blush. He makes her feel simultaneously shy and bold; her heart pounds in her chest.
His own blush answers her, as does the startlingly shy smile.
Then she clambers atop him, bracing herself with a hand on his chest as she guides in the tip, then slowly slips down, feeling him open her. He’s big, and she stretches around him, slick and full. She rocks slightly, leaning back, and he groans, a low hungry sound, as he thrusts up into her. She reaches down, a finger on each side of her clit as his cock pushes against it from below. Again she rocks, and he thrusts, and they find a rhythm, barely but constantly moving, slightly breathless, eyes locked on each other.
He rests a hand on her thigh, then inches towards her hand on her clit.
“May I?” he asks.
Her voice is unsteady as she tells him, yes, please. She puts her own hands on her hips as he rests a thumb on her clit. He’s not really rubbing so much as just pressing steadily downwards. Her clit is caught between the firm pad of his thumb and the slow thrusting of his cock and it’s deliciously tantalizing. She moves her hips, trying to get just a little more movement, a little more friction, and it’s not quite enough, not quite, not quite — and then she’s throbbing, her clit practically jumping under his thumb, her cunt pulsing around him, she’s dizzy and delirious in her orgasm atop him. A thin high whine escapes her, and then she’s babbling his name. He releases her clit and his hands grab her hips and he’s fucking her steadily, his own eyes twisted shut now. He calls out her name with a long groan as he comes.
She rolls off of him, laughing, and they’re both laughing, a little bit giddy, unable to keep their hands off of each other even after. He pauses for a moment to dispose of the condom in the little wastebasket under the side table, then goes back to touching her as if making up for lost time, looking at her as she had been looking at him, as if for the first time. He runs his hands down her sides, pausing his hands on her ribs when she squirms.
“Huh,” and that’s all he says before cupping her breasts with his big hands, brushing his thumbs over her nipples as she had done to him. She closes her eyes and lets out a soft breath, relaxing into his touch. He’s slow, achingly slow, touching her belly, her breasts, her collarbone, caressing her cheeks. She opens her eyes again and his face is wide with wonder, a crooked smile playing at his lips.
“Can I…. Can I taste you?” and he licks his lips and blinks, and she’s absolutely mesmerized by the way his eyelashes brush his cheeks, the tenderness of his smile. She can’t even form words for it, which feels so strange, when she spends her entire existence writing things down. Then he sticks out his tongue and she giggles and nods and he’s crawling down the bed kissing her as he goes, until he slips off the end of the bed and kneels on the floor, pulling her hips towards him.
She can feel his breath on her cunt and while she had been still recovering from her orgasm just seconds ago, now she’s arcing towards him, his sideburns tickle but he holds her tight as she begins to squirm. Then he licks a long stripe, licks her lips, and she groans, breathing hard. He tongues at her and she’s fucking his face, just wanting more, pushing up to him, gripping the blankets with white-knuckled fists. He curls his tongue around her clit and she keens with pleasure. She looks down and he’s grinning into her, holding her with one hand under her thigh, his other hand now stroking himself.
Her eyes are twinkling, like he knows how close she is to unraveling, to coming again, here on his mouth, and he kisses her there, teases and strokes with his tongue. She watches his head bobbing there between her legs, and she lets go of the sheets, grabbing fistfuls of auburn hair and pulling him closer.
She’s begging him, please, please, she’s so close, and then he laughs, damn him, and that rumble hums through her cunt and her gut and curls her toes — and she’s gone, utterly undone under his mouth, coming again. “Oh!” and it’s surprise and delight and the feeling of being entirely in her body and a little bit out of it and the morning light pouring through window. They’ll do this again, she thinks, as she comes back to herself, then hears him shout as he comes in his hand.
He crawls back up, and they’re both sweaty messes. He starts to apologize, which is also cute, but Prestidigitation makes quick work of them both. He kisses her, and while his face is clean, she can taste herself on his tongue and she moans a little at it. Then they both sigh, and lay back against the pillows.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, and then they both start laughing again. They stop abruptly at the knock on the door, and Lucretia scrambles to pull up the sheets, hiding her blushing face in his side.
Taako strolls in without waiting for a response, carrying two steaming mugs — oolong, by the smell of it — and sets them down on the bedside table. He ruffles Magnus’s hair, then says, “Lucy, bubuleh. Three words: Zone of Silence.” She buries her head even deeper into Magnus’s shoulder, if such a thing were possible, while Magnus just laughs.