Work Text:
Coming into Brigitte’s workshop is always a little surprising, no matter how many times I visit. My own mechanic has everything clearly labelled, stores everything in its correct place as soon as it’s no longer in use, and cleans her workspaces every evening. In my mind’s eye, that perpetual neatness was inherent to workshops, which made it a shocking revelation to see Brigitte’s work environment for the first time. It’s not messy, exactly: her tools are well maintained and the workbenches look clean enough. But half-finished projects litter the available surfaces while Brigitte is hunched over something else in a small pool of light, once again working so intently that she hasn’t noticed the sun has gone down.
“Hey there, techie. What’cha working on?” I ask, leaning over her shoulder to see. Brigitte jumps in her seat at the sound of my voice, but then she smiles up at me as she presents a small, rectangular piece of metal.
“Try pressing down on it,” she says. I reach around her and push my thumb into the metal; it bends easily. “It’s a new type of armour I’m developing. Let me just—okay, now try again.” I do, but it doesn’t budge. Brigitte chuckles at my frown.
“It’s a lightweight material that can be easily shaped into whatever it needs to be, like a suit of armour. When it’s activated, though, it gains a motion detection field around the wearer that predicts where the impact will be and then hardens that specific area to the level of traditional heavy armour. I think it’s promising, but I need to test—"
I can't help but smile as she looks down at my dress, blinks, and then looks for a few more seconds. As soon as I saw that her workshop was the only lit room in the house, I knew she'd lost track of time again. Now it's just a matter of waiting for her to catch up.
"Wait. Shit. The restaurant.”
There it is.
To her credit, when she realises that we have a reservation in 15 minutes, she rushes out of her workshop and into her living quarters. I follow at a much more leisurely pace and wait outside her bathroom door, her discarded clothes scattered around me. The noise of the shower mixes with some undoubtedly colourful Swedish curse words that I’ll be sure to ask a translation for later. For now, I pull out my phone and dial the restaurant.
Within less than a minute, the shower stops running. The door opens and Brigitte emerges, still dripping. My eyes follow a droplet of water as it runs between her breasts to her abs, then down to her thighs. She doesn’t notice my gaze as she tries to run past me to get to her closet, but I put my hand on her chest to stop her. “I just got off the phone with the maître d’. Tried to tell them we’d be a little late, but they said they’d have to give away our table.”
“We can make it. I just have to—”
“We can’t. And even if we could…” I push against her lightly, guiding her back into her bathroom, “…there’s no way you’re clean yet.”
She tries to protest, but I rise on my tiptoes to kiss her, pressing my body into hers. The protest stops almost immediately, and she pulls me in even closer the way she knows I like. It lasts only briefly, though, as she quickly remembers that she’s supposed to be in a hurry. As she tries to escape again, I step in front of her and lock the door. Not actually an effective containment measure, since we’re both on the same side, but it does have the intended result of slowing her down.
“Uh-uh. You’re not clean, and my outfit is all wet now.” True enough, there’s a big water stain on the front, shaped roughly like Brigitte’s torso, and a few smaller stains on the back where her arms were.
“It’s not that wet, and you said the restaurant wasn’t that fancy. It’ll be tight, but I think if we leave in the next two minutes, we should be able—” Her sentence trails off when I turn around, pulling my hair aside to present the zipper of my dress. She’s quiet for two seconds before saying, “Really, it’s not that wet in the back either.”
“세상에… Okay, alright.” I turn back around and cup her face in my hands. I like Brigitte a lot but for such a creative engineer, she needs surprisingly detailed instructions. “Listen to me very carefully. I do not want to go to the restaurant. I don’t like hurrying. We can make another reservation another time. What I want now is to take a shower. With you. So that I can touch your body.”
My hands slide from her face down to her shoulders, then to her arms, where they linger to appreciate the firm muscles. Understanding is dawning on Brigitte’s face along with an increasing redness. I grin up at her and turn to present the zipper again; this time, she takes the hint and helps me out of the dress. I open the door so I can toss it out into the bedroom, followed by my shoes, socks and underwear. Brigitte’s eyes are on my body when I turn back to face her; her face is even redder than before. I quickly glance at the mirror to make sure my own face isn’t burning (it isn’t), then step past her into the shower.
Brigitte is close behind me, and whatever shyness or embarrassment she showed on her face does not come through in her actions at all. She hugs me from behind, her hands on my stomach, and kisses my neck. I tilt my head to give her better access, gasping when she finds my collarbone. “Keep doing that… that’s a good spot,” I say between breaths. While she works that angle, I take her wrist and guide her hand to my breast. Hers are pressing into my back, as is the softness of her dick. I wiggle my lower body into her. It gets the desired reaction: her breath hitches and she stiffens a little.
Looking back over my shoulder, I see that she’s blushing again (or possibly still) and that she’s averted her gaze. I laugh softly and turn around fully so that I can bring her lips down to mine. “Don’t be embarrassed. That’s what I wanted to happen,” I whisper after the kiss, putting my hand between our bodies to touch her. Her mouth opens slightly and her eyes close as I start rubbing her perineum. When she tilts her head upward, I lean in to kiss her collarbone, and from the way her body tenses, it’s just as sensitive a spot on her as it is on me.
“Ja…” Brigitte says softly, barely audible over the noise of the shower. I step closer to her, forcing her backwards until her back hits the shower wall. She looks down at me with wide eyes as I continue to press on, until there’s no empty space between us. Her thigh is pressed in between my legs, and while I would love to explore that a little more, she’s more deserving of my attention at the moment.
Though I’ve left myself little room to work with, the feeling of her tip pressing against my stomach is worth the small inconvenience. Now that she’s erect, I create a bit of room, just enough to take her dick in my hand and stroke it gently while my body presses up against it. Though she isn’t very vocal, her breathing tells me that she’s gradually building up to release, as is her tightening grip on my shoulders, pulling me closer into her chest.
My next warning, just two minutes later, is when her arms fall away from me. Brigitte steadies herself against the shower wall, whispering, “Hana, I’m… if you don’t slow down, I’m gonna…” I smile, taking a small step back so that I can do the exact opposite of slowing down. There’s no additional warning: as soon as she goes quiet and rigid, I feel her cum hitting my stomach.
She shudders as a few more spurts leak out onto my hand, which are quickly washed away by the water running down our bodies. I keep pumping her slowly, watching her face, waiting for her to open her eyes. When she does, she looks down at me with awe, then further down to where my hand still is. A shaky breath escapes her, then short bursts of laughter. “Oh my god…”
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask, though it should be clear from my grin that I know damn well she did. Still, she confirms it with a nod and a widening smile. “Mmh, good. Now turn around, I’ll wash your back for you.”
Actually washing takes a while: I keep getting distracted by her muscles, and kissing breaks are frequent, but we eventually make it out of the bathroom. As we emerge, I lead Brigitte by the hand to her bed, where I lie down on my side. She climbs in too, facing me, and leans in for a kiss. I’m happy to oblige, of course, but it quickly becomes clear that Brigitte is much more patient than I am: while my hands are all over her body, her arms are content with just a respectable hug.
“Touch me.” The urgency in my voice surprises even me, and Brigitte’s eyes widen as well. She puts her hands on my breasts, and though that’s an improvement, it isn’t what I need. “Not there. I want you inside me.” Her face reddens again, but that doesn’t stop her from moving her hand down my stomach. I bite my lip to keep from moaning when her fingertips trail through my pubic hair, then give up on trying to hold it back when she brushes against my clit. “Yes… go on. Keep going.”
It is a source of both frustration and pleasure that Brigitte does not keep going down. Rather, she lingers on my clit, rubbing it softly until my thigh is slick with my own wetness. Though her skin is rough from working with her hands all the time, her touch is gentle. Almost too gentle. I push myself into her hand, trying to create more friction, trying to speed her along, but she just keeps tantalising me with that light, careful touch. It’s not even that she’s teasing: her face is much too earnest for this to be teasing. I should know. When I teased my last girlfriend, my jaw would ache from the grin I wore. Rather, it seems that her tempo is born of caution, as evidenced when she finally places her fingers on my entrance and asks, “Are you ready?”
I can’t contain a barking laugh. “Am I ready? Brig, I’ve been ready since we lay down, so if you don’t put your fingers inside of me right now—"
Her fingers slide into me easily. Of course, now she’s smiling, when my sentence has been cut off with a sharp inhale and my mouth is left gaping. I only somewhat recover, just enough to pant, “Yes, fuck, fuck me, just like that.” Brigitte puts her other hand on my shoulder and pushes me down onto my back, while moving one of her legs over mine. She doesn’t have to push down hard, but I’m pinned nonetheless, with only my arms free to move. One hand tries to touch her abs and her dick, though my coordination leaves much to be desired at the moment; the other lies beside me, balling my fist whenever a wave of pleasure goes through me. “더, 더, 아, 더 주어!”
The pressure on my shoulder and legs continues to hold me down when I reach orgasm. Every muscle in my body tightens, my hands forming claws that smack against the sheets repeatedly. Brigitte withdraws her fingers, leaving me clenching around emptiness, and moves off the bed. I’m still catching my breath, eyes closed and one hand on my chest, when her strong hands grab me by the hips. As my eyes fly open, the ceiling turns 90 degrees above me, and suddenly my lower body is no longer on the bed: Brigitte is holding me up instead, on her knees beside the bed with her hands beneath my hips and her face between my legs. I barely have time to register what’s about to happen before she leans in and puts her mouth over my clit.
Her tongue laps at me eagerly. Now that I’m free to move my upper body, I twist it every which way. I’m still sensitive, so it doesn’t take long before my legs clench around her head. Her grip on my hips tightens a little, but she doesn’t slow down at all, even when I shout her name at the ceiling and my heels press hard into her back. In fact, she doesn’t slow down after my orgasm either. I grip the sheets to try to keep myself from thrashing around too much, but the effort proves futile when a third orgasm follows almost immediately after the second.
When I look down my body, her eyes meet mine. The sight of her face between my thighs, my legs over her shoulders and my wetness covering her cheeks sends another shudder through me. “Fuck me,” I whisper. If the tables were turned and I were in her position, I would point out that I had just done so, quite vigorously in fact, and I also didn’t hear a magic word so perhaps a little rephrasing is in order. Brigitte, thankfully, is not me. She glances down and back to me again, then rises to her feet.
“Are you sure?” she asks. With the way she’s currently towering above me, the muscles in her arms tight from continuing to hold my hips aloft, I couldn’t be more sure of anything.
“Yes. Yes, please, fuck me, I want it, I want you, just fuck me, please.” Brigitte carefully puts me back onto the edge of the bed, though she holds onto my ankles so my legs are upright against her torso. The tip of her dick rubs against the back of my thighs as she gets herself into position. I stretch my body towards her, trying to get closer. Brigitte lets go of my left leg and guides herself to my entrance, then stops and makes eye contact again. I look back, unblinking. “Do it. Please, please, do it now, do it. I want you to fuck me, do it, fuck me.”
She pushes into me slowly and carefully. With my back arched and my eyes closed, I find my clit and rub it while Brigitte rests inside of me. “Is it okay? Doesn’t hurt?” she asks. I nod vigorously. “So should I…?” I answer with more nodding and a high-pitched whine that I’m not proud of, but it does get Brigitte moving.
She starts out slow, but when I moan out, “Faster… harder…” she’s quick to follow instructions. At first, I remain intelligible: “You feel so good, keep going, that feels amazing, you’re doing great.” Before long, though, she’s leaning over me and folding my legs onto my stomach while she pounds into me, and anything I say is more noise than language. While my left hand is still on my clit, the other is hooked around the back of Brigitte’s neck, as if forcing her to look down into my eyes—as if I could make her do anything right now. Sweat drips from her chin onto my wrist and her hair is sticking to her forehead, but she doesn’t slow down or release her grip on my legs, and every muscle that touches my skin is hard as steel. Only when I clench around her and cry out her name, she relents.
My legs are still a little unresponsive, so when Brigitte pulls out of me, she has to gradually lower them onto the bed to prevent me from simply flopping onto my side. Once I’m stable, I shift them around a bit to get comfortable while Brigitte heads into the bathroom. I admire her body as she wipes it down with a wet washcloth, then roll onto my back to make room when she returns.
“If you want to wash up too—” she says as she lies down next to me, before I interrupt her with a kiss.
“Later. Can we cuddle?” Her face lights up at that, and she snuggles up to me. I roll back onto my side and put my arms around her, pulling her close. “That was really good for me. Thank you,” I say. Her face scrunches up and her smile widens when I kiss her forehead. “I hope I wasn’t too demanding. You were just… really hot. I got a little carried away.”
She laughs nervously, blushing. “Just doing what I thought you wanted.”
“You were perfect.” As she nestles her head in the space beneath my chin, I kiss the top of her head and stroke her hair. Her breath against my skin gradually slows, and when she falls asleep, I finally have the chance to properly process my delayed mortification.
Can’t believe I begged like that…