Work Text:
Elliott was late.
By two whole days, in fact.
Two more stops added on to his book tour. Two more short, unsatisfying check-ins before you went to sleep. Two more nights with your bed feeling cold and empty. Two more days that you should have had with him but didn’t.
You weren’t happy about it.
And you told him that. He understood, apologized profusely, assured you he’d make it up to you, he was so, so sorry darling, this wasn’t how he wanted it to be, he’d be home soon, just hang on a little longer for him.
You believed him. Forgave him, even. Not that there was much to forgive. This was how it was, aligning yourself with a mind that everyone wanted a piece of. You moved at the speed your life demanded, tending the farm and tying yourself to the turn of the seasons. Elliott moved at his, writing and roaming at the whims of his publisher and, more importantly, his inspiration. Two separate orbits, spiraling and intertwining. Sometimes the timing just got out of whack. It was something you learned to live with.
But you can live with something and still be kind of pissed about it.
The thing was, he called you two hours before you expected him home, right when you were in the middle of making his favorite soup. You’d grown the ginger yourself, planted the lemongrass next to the thyme in your kitchen garden. You’d stared at the ingredients on your cutting board while he told you the news, a feeling of powerlessness washing over you. He’d be back as soon as he could. It had nothing to do with his feelings about you. You knew this. But still an uncomfortable pressure settled into your chest.
There had to be something you could do to make yourself feel better about it all.
After you hung up the phone you finished making the soup. You portioned it into Tupperware after it cooled, put it in the fridge, washed the dishes.
And while you did all that, you schemed.
————
And 48 hours later there he was in the kitchen. Handsome as ever. Handsomer, even. Travel and exhaustion gave him a slightly haggard air you found wildly appealing, all loose crumples in his hair and blue bruises at the corners of his eyes. It was almost enough to make you want to forget your annoyance, to usher him into your arms and feed him soup and sweet words.
Instead you just smiled. “Welcome home. You must be tired.”
He had a slightly cautious look in his eyes, clearly recognizing that your greeting was less enthusiastic than usual. He had the sense not to comment, though. “Thank you, darling. You are a sight for the sorest of eyes. I… I’ve missed you terribly.”
“Mmmmmm. Why don’t you sit down and tell me about your trip?” You pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, gestured for him to take a load off. He did so with a sigh, leaning heavy on the slatted wooden back and letting his legs loll out all long. Argyle socks stuck out from light tan trousers. His button-down shirt stretched across his chest, and his hair hung limp and long over his shoulders.
Yoba, he looked good.
Focus, you reminded yourself.
“Are you hungry?”
“I am ravenous ,” he said, though it wasn’t hard to tell by the way he smirked up at you that he was being liberal with his wordplay.
Subtle . You rolled your eyes to yourself, made for the fridge. But instead of reaching for a container of soup you reached for the bundle of soft rope you’d hidden there instead.
“So were the extra stops worth it?” You made sure your voice stayed casual as you meandered back his way. Your hands were tucked behind you while you circled to the rear of his chair.
“No,” he said simply, “but far be it from me to second guess the wisdom of my publisher.”
“Mmmm,” you acknowledged, now standing behind him. You rested a hand on his shoulder, appreciated how warm and solid and firm the muscle felt. It’d been too long since you’d been able to touch him, and a part of you wanted to just wrap your arms around his neck and breathe in deep.
Elliott hummed happily, letting his head fall back to rest against your chest. You allowed yourself one deviation from your plan - a quick peck on the top of his head - then ran your hand down his arm to grip around his sturdy wrist. You had to lean down to do it, breasts pressing firmly into his shoulder, and he made an appreciative sound at the contact.
Then you dropped to your knees behind him, guided his arm behind the chair, and looped the rope around his wrist.
“Darling, what are…” Elliott craned his head to look at you. The confusion on his face melted to pointed interest when he saw what you were doing. “Oh,” he said, all breathless and intrigued.
“Oh,” you repeated, reaching for his other arm. He gave no resistance as you pulled his wrists together and did your best to replicate the knot you’d been practicing. He held his arms steady, which helped. Your heart was pounding, hands shaking a little, but you managed to pull it off with only a fumble or two. You tied the ends of the rope to the piece of wood running perpendicular to the chair legs and there you had it - one wandering husband, all tied up and exactly where you wanted him.
All yours.
“You should have been back two days ago,” you said, trailing your hand along his arm as you rose and circled to face him. He was breathing a little faster than he was before, chest rising and falling, straining against his shirt. His lips were parted, face pinkening, and the way he was looking up at you, eyes all dark amidst the amber, lids low and lazy, had a matching flush rushing to your own cheeks.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, voice much lower than it had been when he’d apologized before. “How would you like me to make it up to you?”
You smirked. It made Elliott draw in a quick breath. “I don’t know,” you said, swinging a leg over the chair, straddling his thighs without sitting down. You cupped the side of his face, traced a thumb back and forth over his cheekbone. “You really messed up my plans.”
“Plans?” His eyes fell closed at the stroke of your thumb.
“Mmmm,” you said. “I was in the middle of making Tom Kha soup when you called. There I was, expecting you home in an hour or two. I’d already grated the ginger. Can you imagine how upset I felt? How lonely it made me to know I’d have to wait even longer to see my husband?”
Were you putting it on a little thick? Yes. Was that part of the fun? Absolutely .
“I’m sorry, love,” Elliott said. “I missed you too. Terribly. Endlessly. I looked for your eyes in every stranger’s face, just to feel some fleeting connect-“
You cut him off with a kiss. When he got going he could really get going, and that’s not what you were there for. He could save the poetics for his fans. What you wanted was him , moaning all soft and deep as you swiped your tongue over his mouth. The sound broadened when you bit down on his lower lip. You could feel him shift between your legs as you pulled and scraped your teeth along the tender flesh.
Elliott made no attempt to pick up his chatter when his mouth was free. His lips stayed parted as you went back to stroking his cheek. “You know what I was going to be wearing when you got home?”
“What?” The word was a whisper.
“Well, I asked Emily to make me this sweet little apron, all ribbons and bows. I knew you’d like it, so that’s all I was going to be wearing when you walked in the door.”
Elliott sucked in a breath. His legs were moving between your knees again, as if he were suddenly growing a little less comfortable.
“Could you imagine it? You all tired after two weeks away? Coming through the door to the smell of lemongrass and coconut milk? And what do you see? Your loving wife standing in the kitchen in nothing but an apron, stirring the soup while she waited for you to come take her.” Elliott shivered and looked up at you through eyes grown even darker. “You’re not the only one with a good imagination, are you?” you asked, patting his cheek.
“Darling…” he breathed. His shoulders shifted, like he was testing the strength of the rope.
“You could have your arms around me right now,” you said, letting your fingers trail down to trace the column of his throat. His eyes were closed again, his head tilting back. You could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, the slight stubble that speckled beneath his chin. “You could be doing whatever you wanted to me, if you hadn’t kept me waiting.”
You unhooked the top button of his shirt, traced your fingers along the scattering of hair there. Elliott’s flush had spread downward, speckling his neck and collarbones. He made a warm hum as you trailed your fingers over him. “But now?” you said, stilling your fingers. He opened his eyes, just enough to let you see how hazy and contented they were. You smiled. “Now you’re going to have to wait for me.”
“What… what do you mean darling?” He raised his head back up as you swung your leg and stood at the side of his chair.
“It means I’m going to go take a bath,” you said, “and you’re going to stay right here until I’m done. Understand?”
Elliott was nodding before you finished your sentence, shifting his hips to find a more comfortable position. If you looked down at his lap you had a feeling you might see his excitement growing. But instead you focused on his face, caught him by the chin with gentle fingers, whispered, “Color?”
Elliott broke into a smile, equal parts loving and lascivious. “Green, darling,” he said. “Please don’t be long.”
You laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be as long as I want to be,” you replied, and walked away before he could see the way your hands were shaking.
———-
So.
This was not your usual dynamic. Elliott was usually the one who led the way in the bedroom, and you were glad to let him do so. He loved his rope, loved his knots, loved dreaming up scenarios to make you fall apart. He was good at it, and you loved how it felt to surrender and fall into the waters of his fantasies.
Not tonight though. This time you had the plan. This time he was going to follow your lead.
Doesn’t mean you weren’t nervous as hell about it though.
The adrenaline made your hands shake as you plugged the tub. You took a few deep breaths as you watched it start to fill. 30 minutes. That’s how long you were going to make him wait. Thirty minutes. You poured in some bubble bath, tried to focus on the way the suds swirled and not the way your heart was pounding.
Elliott was right there in the kitchen.
He couldn’t move.
He was going to wait for as long as you wanted him to.
He wanted to wait for as long as you wanted him to.
You’d set a timer on your phone as soon as you’d shut the bathroom door. You glanced at it when the tub was almost full. Surely ten minutes had passed already.
Twenty six minutes and thirty eight seconds left.
You grimaced. The wait was going to be a lot harder on you than it would be on him.
You undressed, sunk into the tub, shuddering a little as the hot water quickly warmed your skin. “Just relax,” you told yourself. Your body wasn’t obeying, though, shoulders tensed up tight, knees wanting to press together.
You leaned your head back, reminded yourself to just breathe .
The minutes dragged past. You tried not to keep checking your phone, but you couldn’t help yourself. Twenty minutes left. Eighteen. You pictured Elliott out there in the kitchen. Pictured the way his legs looked sprawled out in front of him. Pictured the heat in his eyes as he gazed up through his lashes. Pictured the way the rope had looked around his wrists.
You checked your phone. Sixteen minutes and thirty seconds.
Yoba’s fucking Light.
Why were you doing this again?
Wasn’t it just torture for both of you?
You wrapped your arms around your knees, rested your head on your forearms, looked down at the water below.
You moved at your speed, and he moved at his. But still, you intertwined. Those extra two days, those 48 hours, that was his orbit, his needs. You could let yourself get pulled in, align your circle with his, resign yourself to a lifetime of chasing, of wanting, of missing.
Or you could stay in your own orbit, keep your own time, make your own decisions about where and how your spirals intertwined. An equalization. A stability. All wrapped up in thirty minutes and a three foot length of rope.
You checked your phone. Twelve minutes and fifty eight seconds.
Okay.
You could do this.
—————
You turned off the timer with three seconds left. You’d already toweled off and pulled on your robe. The back of your hair was damp, the faintest distraction as you drained the tub.
As you left the glug of the draining water behind, a part of you worried about what you’d find in the kitchen. Would Elliott be upset? Would he be uncomfortable? Would he have found a way out of the rope, given up on you and your attempt to wrest control, gone to bed without saying goodnight?
You needn’t have worried. There he was, still in the chair, looking absolutely wrecked. He’d sunk down further in the seat while you were gone, head resting on the back of the chair, eyes closed, hair mussed, as though he’d been shifting back and forth in agitation. He was flushed down his neck, the pink disappearing below the collar of his shirt.
As you drew closer you saw a small spot of wet showing through near the crotch of his trousers.
Okay, you thought to yourself. Okay.
“You’re back,” he said, low and slow. He watched you through half lidded eyes as you drew close. You didn’t say anything, just traced a thumb over his lip. His mouth opened for you easily, and you spent a moment enjoying how it felt. The soft plush of his lip. The rough edge of his teeth. The way his tongue moved beneath your thumb.
“I missed you,” you said softly, and pulled away from his mouth.
“I missed you too.” His voice was a little rougher than usual.
“Color?” you asked.
“Green, my love. What about you?”
You smiled. Of course he would ask. “Green. The rope okay?”
“Mmmmmm,” he confirmed, eyes closing in pleasure as you started to stroke your fingers through his hair.
You were gentle for a moment, then gripped tight near his scalp. “Good,” you said, “because it’s going to stay there for a while.”
Elliott sighed, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Yes, love,” he whispered. “Whatever you say.”
You untied the belt of your robe with your free hand, let the fabric drop down around your shoulders. Elliott groaned, softly at first, then louder as you pulled his head to your breast. His body stiffened, an eager sound in his throat as he latched his lips around your nipple.
His mouth. Good for so much more than words. The soft flex of it around you, pursing and sucking you in. Heat and wet and warm, his tongue tracing a slow circle around your tip. The sensation sent a wave of heat through you, filling your chest and settling between your legs. More suction, a little harder now, and it had you anchoring your other hand in his hair too.
You looked down to watch him. His eyes were closed, brow relaxed, strawberry lashes on apple cheeks.
He looked at peace.
You felt anything but.
His suction was increasing, his tongue flitting faster, adding tension to the heat coursing through you. With it came noise, a soft “unh” you couldn’t help, and Elliott looked up at you in response. His eyes looked hazy under languid lids, but you could see the ghost of a smirk crinkling at the tops of his cheeks.
You shivered, started to pull his head away. He kept up the suction for as long as he could, eyes staying on yours as he drew the tip of your breast along with his mouth, finally letting go with one last suck. His lips were slick and shiny, and there was no thought, no strategy behind your movements as you pressed your mouth against him.
The kiss was faster this time, sloppier, hungrier, all tongue diving in and Elliott’s head tipped back. You could feel him stiffening beneath you, trying to reach his body up closer, but the ropes around his wrists prevented him from reaching you.
You were both gasping when you pulled away.
“Oh honey,” Elliott breathed, voice all pleading silk. “I need you so terribly.”
This was not in doubt. You could feel the solid ridge through his trousers as you straddled him and settled in. You ground down, one short, rolling movement, and he huffed out a groan.
“You need me?” you asked, letting your full weight fall on his hips. “ Terribly ? How terribly?”
“Endlessly,” he groaned as you started undoing his shirt buttons. “Eternally. Unceasingly. My thoughts are awash with you, awake and asleep. You dance before my eyes. You haunt my every breath, you -“
Okay, that’s enough.
He choked on his words as you raked your nails up the skin you’d just revealed, none too hard, none too gently. You appreciated the broad plane of his chest and the smattering of freckles on his shoulders as you pushed his shirt down his arms. You’d appreciate them for longer, but Elliott had started talking again, rambling about your hair and the moon and the pull of the tides and yes, yes, he was very sweet, very romantic, very Elliott, but honestly you’d heard plenty.
So you told him so, with your hands gripping firmly back into his hair and your teeth scraping along his jugular. He made a sound like a “hah”, bucked his hips up against you, and you laughed into his neck.
“You missed me that much,” you said into his skin, “but not enough to make it home when you’d said you’d be?”
He started to say something, another apology, but you didn’t want to hear it. To be honest, you weren’t particularly mad anymore. You were, however, particularly interested in the sound he made when you reached down between the two of you and cupped your hand over his cock. A tight sound, a grunt through gritted teeth, and his length pulsed in time with the sound. You squeezed, felt his heat, felt him shake, and fuck it.
No reason to draw this out any longer.
48 hours and 30 minutes.
You’d waited quite long enough.
Your hands were shaking again, but this time from excitement, not nerves. Still, you were able to make quick work of his belt and zipper. You murmured your approval as he shifted to help you release his cock, and his heat was so much greater as his skin met your hand.
You rose back on your feet, knees bent, just the right height to press the tip of him against your folds. You both gasped at the contact, Elliott’s shoulders twisting as he worked his wrists against the ropes. You couldn’t say which was better: the feel of him sliding against you or the way he finally surrendered and let his head fall back against the chair.
But then you circled the head of his cock around your clit and decided that was the feeling that won out. It was decadent, after so many nights alone. The wet slide as the moisture at his tip mixed with the wetness that’d arisen in you as you’d teased him. The softness of his skin combined with the hard pulse of him in your hand. The way you could feel his hips trembling as he tried to keep himself from bucking up into you.
He was letting you decide where his body would be.
He was in your orbit now.
“You know,” you said, your voice nowhere near steady as you stroked his tip from your mound to your entrance. “I think I forgive you for being so late.”
“Do you?” He sounded more wrecked than you did, barely opening his eyes as his head lolled against the back of the chair.
“Mmmm,” you said, rubbing him teasingly close to where you opened. “Just this once. But if you want to be inside me you’re going to have to convince me you’ll never do it again.”
“Never,” he said quickly, then gave a shuddering gasp as your free hand found its way back to his hair.
“You’ll need to do better than that. What will you say if your publisher asks you to extend another tour?”
“I’ll tell them I can’t.” His voice hitched as you teased him around your entrance again. “I’ll say I need to get back home to my wife.”
“Mmmmm,” you considered, then ran him back up to your clit. It sent a shudder through you, all tense electricity, and you felt yourself squeeze around nothing. You circled him there for a moment, let yourself grow tighter. As tight as your voice as you said, “And if they insist, what then?”
“I’ll break my contract.” Even more rushed this time. “I’ll… I’ll just leave. Let the fans show up to an empty…” He groaned as you slid him back towards your entrance. “An empty table.”
“Interesting.” You sunk down, just a little. Just enough to let him feel your heat, then rose again. “What if I ask you not to go at all? Will you stay?”
Elliott was nodding fast and hard, his hair tugging in your hand. “Yes, yes love. Yes. Ask it. Ask it of me and I’ll stay.”
It was intoxicating, the way he was responding to you. The way his excitement seemed to rise with each word. Is this what he felt, you wondered, each time he made you twitch and tremble and whimper and moan?
“What else?” you asked, holding his cock still against you. “Will you let me keep you here? Tie you to the bed so you can’t run off on me again?”
“Anything.” The words were a groan. “Anything, my love. Anything . Anything you want from me is yours. Anything anything anything anything…”
You squeezed his length. Your heart was pounding. “What if all I want is for you to fill me up?”
He had no words, just a groan, loud and desperate, and there was nothing else you could possibly need but that sound and the way it felt as you lowered yourself onto him. All slick press and stretch, all tension, all heat, all soft hair in your hand and the solid strength of his shoulder where you laid your head as your hips settled flush on his.
Elliott bit off a sound that sounded suspiciously like “fuck,” and you couldn’t help but laugh. Joy and pleasure and relief and affection.
You’d missed him so.
You were so glad he was back.
He felt so, so, so good inside you.
You circled your hips. Incredible. He’d always fit you so perfectly. Just right for filling you up. Just right for squeezing around. Just right for rocking back and forth, finding that angle , that point he could hit that made you mewl and clench and stretch through your toes. It was even better like this, when you could control it. Control the speed and the depth. Push up and let yourself fall back. Feel his shoulders shake every time you ground down. You leaned your chest into his, wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, let him bury his face in your skin.
“I hate it when you leave,” you said, letting your hips shift in tiny, pulsing movements. Your voice was nearly a whine, but you didn’t care. There was no space to care with the way you could feel him in every corner of your body.
“So do I.” He was tense, his body, his words, all shuddering and hot. You straightened long enough to shuck off your robe, then wrapped your arms into the opening of his shirt and around his back. You could feel his heart pounding as your lips found his neck, feel the vibration of the groans flowing from his mouth. You felt them running through you, amplifying the frisson between your thighs, drawing you tighter and tighter as you squeezed around his cock.
And they were converging, now, his orbit and yours. Narrowing closer on a single shivering point. His body. Yours. His voice. Yours. His pleasure. Yours. So different than when he was in control, when you were the focus and he chose the pace. So devastatingly aligned, the tightening in your core tipping from “delicious” to “overwhelmed”, bowling you over and making your nails dig into his back, drawing him closer, deeper, spiraling until yes , that was it, that perfect alignment of time and location and intention and heat. You cried out into his neck, clutching him as tight as your shaking hands allowed, and let his body support you as you tumbled over the edge.
And he was right there with you, head tipping back, hips stuttering and stiff, groaning out with you as you filled with heat. You couldn’t stop the shuddering, the clenching around him, the fluttering aftershocks that made him hiss and shake too, and seconds stretched as you gasped and trembled against each other.
Finally, finally, you relaxed enough to draw back and look at him. Elliott returned your gaze, eyes so full of affection you had to fight the urge to bury your face back into his neck. “Honey,” he said. “I am never leaving your side again.”
You smiled and pressed a kiss against his collarbone. “I’m going to remember you said that next time you finish a manuscript.” Your voice was lazy, content.
“Virtual signings,” he said, breath slowly coming back into his voice. “From my office. I don’t know how, but we’ll figure it out. I am going to stay within arms reach of you for the rest of my life.”
You were snickering now, shifting half off his lap, swallowing your wince as you felt him start to spill out of you. “I see that lasting until it’s feeding time for the chickens, but the sentiment is appreciated.”
“Horrible beasts,” Elliott muttered, then hummed as you kissed his mouth. You’d stood off him completely, and when you pulled away you moved to untie his wrists. He sighed when his hands were loose, and you felt a pang of uncertainty.
“Did I do them too tight?” you asked, standing back up.
“Oh no, darling. Just relishing my ability to do this .” He grabbed you around the waist, pulled you down into his lap, hugged you tight.
His arms felt good around you.
And they’d feel good later too, when you settled back in for another bath. This time you weren’t alone, though, and there was no timer to watch.
He was with you.
You were with him.
His fingers were trailing up and down your arm.
Your orbits were aligned, which meant there was absolutely no reason to think about time at all.