Fandom: Heroes RPS
Pairing: ZQ/SR
Rating: R
Warning: Food-kink if you want to see it that way.
The kitchen floor is cold. I try not to squirm, really I do, but the hardboard against my bare shoulders and back makes me shiver, goosebumps rising along my arms; this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when Sendhil stood up in the middle of dinner and told me to take off my shirt, dammit. Why couldn't he just have shoved the food off the table and bent me over it like a normal guy?
"Don't spill," Sendhil says. I nod and look up at the dark polished wood of the table looming above me, following the pattern of the grain to distract myself from the pain in my legs. It's so cramped down here and I don't even dare to shift, though my calves are getting sore from Sendhil pressing his ass down on them.
"Just get on with it," I snap; "your ass is bony." Sendhil chuckles and tilts the bottle.
The warmth of Sendhil's hand pressing down on my hip bone contrasts with the wet coldness that touches my belly and trickles down to pool at my navel. My breath hitches in my throat with a pathetic sound like a mix of a yelp and a shriek and I feel goosebumps rise along the skin of my stomach, chest, shoulders -- hot and cold are teasing all my nerve endings. I feel something run down the side of my stomach and crank my neck to meet Sendhil's eyes, and see him put down the half-empty wine bottle with a smile.
"You spilled."
Sooner than I can say "sorry" Sendhil bends down and presses his lips, wet and wide-open and glistering, to the skin around my navel. The mouth is even hotter than the hand, the suction strong; his tongue pokes and swirls in my belly button, finding and licking up every drop of the wine, and he's moaning in delight with every lap of his tongue.
"If I didn't know better," I say, painfully aware of the growing bulge in my pants pushing up against Sendhil's chest, "I'd say you'd never tasted red wine before."
Sendhil chuckles, like he does at everything I say when he's in this mood, indulging in his own private kinks, secure in his knowledge that I will -- anyone will -- accept his antics and greedily take anything he chooses to give.
His lips leave my skin with one last suck, and he sticks out his tongue to trace the trail of wine down along my waist. "I haven't, from your skin." Those words send a shiver through my body, so much more effective than the tongue he places flat on my hip bone and drags up all the way to my nipple, the thought that he wants to drink off my skin, wants this with me. I whimper and can't stop my hands from lifting from the floor to sneak inside Sendhil's shirt. His skin feels flushed under my palms but I know how much he can drink, how much it takes before he starts to feel it, and half a bottle of wine isn't it.
"How is it, then? My skin?" My voice is shaky, so much so it's embarrassing, as Sendhil lifts the bottle again and leaves small drops along my chest and neck, following the path with open-mouthed kisses. His crotch is pressed against mine now, hardness evident through layers of denim and cotton. My breathing is heavy and I feel like I'm choking on the expressive, pungent fragrance filling my nostrils. "Your verdict?"
Sendhil's fingers tangle in my hair and pull my head up from the floor, and I slip a hand out from under his shirt to prop myself up on one elbow. A lick along my lips is enough to tell me to open my mouth and I do, obediently, accepting the wine he pours into me and spills over my chin. He bites lightly as he sucks away the drops trickling down my neck before covering my open mouth with his. I let him lick behind my teeth, lap at the roof of my mouth, suck the liquid off my tongue and into his mouth, I let him use me as his vessel, unflinching, unmoving, existing for him, just him.
Sendhil is breathing hard when he pulls away, eyelashes fluttering inches from me and tongue darting out to lick the remnants of wine from his full bottom lip. When he opens his mouth to speak, dark eyes fixed on mine, his voice is dry and coarse as though he has been screaming. "Every bit as delicious as I thought you'd be."
And with those words it's like a spell is broken and I grab his face and clash our mouths together, my turn to invade his mouth now, and twist my body and slam him into the hard floor, covering him and trapping him under me. I fumble to open our flies and press skin to skin, grabbing both of us, wet and hot and aching, and grind, while Sendhil pants and mutters in my ear about my beautiful pale skin, my lean muscles, my mouth, so red and pouty and just ready to be used, how good I smell and how badly he wants to taste my skin all over, and when Sendhil comes in my hand, it's with a groaned "Zach" in my ear.
"Eat or sleep?" he asks after I catch my breath, his arms around my neck and his lips pressed to my jawline, right below my ear, mouthing the words against my skin.
"Shower. What does Olga think of dinner in bed?"
He giggles briefly and crawls out from under me, leaving me lying flat on my stomach, drained. "I won't tell if you don't," he says, reaching down to tug at my shoulders, pulling me up on all fours so I can crawl out to join him.
"Bullshit. You tell her everything."
Sendhil just laughs and pushes me towards the bathroom, and I know I'm right that the bastard will, but don't mind so much at this moment.