Heero and I have a fairly balanced relationship. We share a home, all the associated chores, the same commute to work, headed for the same office. The car is a joint ownership too, a compromise not only between taste and available funds, but also between the two of us. Practicality and flash at economical cost. We're not entirely happy with it, but we get by.
If you ever told me ten years ago that I'd end up working nine to five and living in the suburbs, I would have laughed in your face.
But our green backyard appeals to me. Unfortunately, I'm more adept at killing whatever I touch than nurturing it to full bloom - except for a few select things. That's why the garden remains Heero's domain, and one he tends well.
We share a bed too - and there, I tend to rule. At least, I like to think so.
Heero would claim that's only 'cause I toss and turn a lot, and like to hog the sheets. I've woken up enough times with my face on the floor to partly agree with him.
The truth is that I like to top during sex, though. I'm not too fond of spreading my legs, not even to Heero. Sure, he makes it feel good in the end, but I prefer to bury myself in him rather than have it the other way around.
That's why whenever a snuggle or a fistfuck or a blowjob just won't suffice, Heero accommodates me - even if I usually have to beg and promise to take out the trash for a week afterwards. Then there are the times he convinces me to turn the tables, and I get to hear the begging and skip chores.
However, there is one sure-fire way he has to make me think differently, to make me truly want him to fuck me - and that's when he offers the little extra.
He did this evening. Work had been the usual bitch, but it was a Friday night, and we were relaxing on the couch. The pillows are really a bit too soft for comfort - but the covers are removable and easily washed. Believe me, that comes in handy sometimes.
I was lying to one side of the sofa, against one of the high, fluffed arm leans. Heero lay against my chest, between my legs, his fingertips playing with the end of my braid, one of my hands buried into the dark curls at the back of his head. The holoprojector was on, but the movie wasn't really interesting, only an excuse to avoid silence, avoid ruining the moment by talking.
He did anyway, frowning as he brushed the end strands across his palm, glancing further up the length, finally tilting his head to look up at me, studious frown shifting to the sort of gentle smile I once never would have thought I'd see on his face. I suppose that's why it's such a kick to watch the sated grin on his face after sex or the smirk between passionate kisses during makeout sessions, well aware I helped provoke it.
"Your hair could use a wash," he states.
"Yeah?" I reply, grinning down at him. "You sure?"
Nod, beginnings of a smirk. "I'll help you - if you're up to it."
I think about it for a moment, then nod. While I know from past experience what his help would entail, I also know he'll make it well worth it. Like I said, the little extras. Besides, he's right about my hair. I had worked up enough grime for a while, and it would be nice to get it cleaned up.
He slides elegantly off of me and to his feet, then graciously offers his hand to pull me up. Feeling lazy, I accept - and don't let go once I'm up. He gives me a puzzled look, then smiles, clasps my hand back and tows me off towards the bathroom.
Once there, I start unbuttoning his crisp, white shirt while he untucks my black T-shirt with 'Hellraiser' in thick, red letters across the front. Yeah, I've gotten a few comments about my work attire from the boss lady - and even more from Heero. He has learned to accept it, though. She's still being taught.
I let him slip my T-shirt over my head, then return to undo his cuffs and wrestle his torso as naked as mine, short of my chain and cross around the neck. It's a keepsake, don't ask.
I beat him to the pants, dipping two fingers under the waistband of his pressed flannels while I unzip the fly, slipping my other hand inside to cup his crotch, his thin cotton briefs all that's between him and me. I give him a soft squeeze. At his sharp intake of air, I shift my hand and pop the button, his pants pooling around his feet. I kiss him, get kissed back in full and then some, feel warm hands on my back slip down into the pockets of my jeans to paw my rear.
Against my lips, I feel him smirk. It's not as if I don't get the picture. Tonight, my ass is his - but he'll have to work for it.
His hands shift to my front, quickly unbutton my pants and tug at them until gravity does the rest. Impatient, he pulls at my boxers too, freeing my half-erect cock, massaging my balls in his palm. I moan against his mouth, thrust against his wrist.
It's with some effort I pull back and don't complain as his hands leave my body again. I remove my tube socks, watch him claw off his thin, black ones, then slip his briefs off, showing his own eagerness.
"You get the water to the right temperature," he tells me, "and I'll get the supplies."
I've got no problem with that. From the corner of my eye, I watch his backside as he picks up our scattered clothes and deposit them at the far side of the room, folding the thick bathroom rug in over them so no stray splash would soak them. I'm a bit disappointed as he stands up and walks over to the towel cabinet - but only a little.
This bathroom was one of the reasons we went for this house in the first place. Sure, the garden was nice, and the skylight in the upstairs living room a boon, and the mirror closets in the bedroom just plain fun - but the large shower and big bathtub in this room was the cherry at the top. Both comfortably allow for two people at once, something that frequently comes in handy.
Of course, porcelain gives damn poor footing, especially when smooth, curved and wet.
I lean in over the tub to work the water regulator, turn the hot-to-cold knob to my scalp's preference, and make the water run slowly to catch up on that choice of temperature. Swiftly checking, then shaking my hand, I figure it won't take long.
I suppose we could have used the shower, but while fairly accommodating, it isn't quite that spacious - not for both the things I know will follow. I work my footing, planting my feet a bit further apart on the linoleum floor and stare into the white, paisley patterned tiles in the wall in front of me, clasping the cold porcelain edge of the tub with my hands.
Pretty much I'm in the classic 'bend over' position - the only possible contender being the 'dropped the soap in the shower' routine. That's more Heero's thing, though - and I've taken him up on the invite more than once. Eager to please, that's me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I watch him toss a couple of towels at the end of the bench, over by the toilet. Even with his back turned, the sound of cheap plastic being ripped lets me know he's tearing open a condom wrapper. When he turns around, I hastily do the same, knowing he's grinning in having caught me peeking at his rear.
"How's the water coming?"
I reach out to check. "Just about right."
"Good," he says, before pushing the small, battered wooden stool slash table we keep in the bathroom over to the side of the tub. Three bottles and an unpacked standard condom adorns it. He likes variety, including the knobbed and flavored ones. I prefer my Heero plain and straight up. "Ready?"
I nod, stand up, lean back against his embrace, tilt to the side and turn my head for a mismatched, sloppy kiss. His lips touch my shoulder right after in compensation, his fingers rake across my belly, nudging the head of my dick. He slips my hairband off with his other hand and puts it down at the stool. "Unbraid your hair," he whispers in my ear, both a request and a command.
I obey, brush my ass against his crotch to tease him as I lean forward again, trying to undo his handiwork from this morning. Slowly, my long, brown hair reaches towards the bottom of the bathtub, the end of it touching the stream of water running from the faucet to the drain.
His fingers come to aid mine and he leans in over me, pressing our bodies together. A moan escapes me at his touch, and I brace one arm against the far side of the tub for support.
Kisses rain against my now exposed neck, clouds drifting south. His hands leave me for a moment, my sight obscured from within the tangle of hair, making me listen all the more intently. I recognize the sound of the cap popping, though - and at the first cool touch of lube, I tense up, trying my best to calm my breathing again, to relax at Heero's graze.
Warm palm against my shoulder, cool and slick finger against my rear sweeping across my pucker, waiting until I'm at ease again. Then, in to the first knuckle, and already I hiss. He waits, patient. I feel his thigh against mine, his dick against my butt-cheek.
While he works my rear, I distract myself by hand-combing my hair forward and to one side. At the second finger, I glance down my chest and belly, through the chain of the dangling cross, watch my half-erection, see him at my side. "Good enough," I croak out. "Get on with it."
I sense his hesitation, but we used toys the other night; I should still be loose enough. Sure, he was bottom - but that didn't leave my ass untouched. It was a compromise - a condition. I agreed without thinking ahead. The bastard picked a big one, too - and I squirmed in my chair the day after at the office, glaring at him as he smirked back.
He made up for it in a storage closet during lunch, and kissed most of the pain away.
"If you're sure..." he cautions, accepting my follow-up nod. Between my legs, above my cross, I watch as he lines up behind me. I feel his cock rest against the crack of my ass, his hips making slow, teasing thrusts, giving him only a bare minimum of friction - and neither of us satisfaction. He pauses, leans in over me to grab the condom and applies it, coating it with a generous helping of lubricant before taking half a step back, spreading my ass cheeks with one hand, taking aim with the other. As the tip of his dick pushes against my sphincter, he commands "Give me the handshower."
Trying not to move my hips, I fumble at the tub fixture and finally grasp the flexible hose of the handshower, hurriedly handing it back to him.
"Okay, pop it."
Again, I grope ahead, find the push button that shifts the flow of water from the faucet to the handshower, and push it. The outer edge of the stream touches my side, and from the corner of my eye I watch as he washes his hands off, not wanting to mix lube into my hair.
My asslips grab at the head of his cock, but the standoff remains.
"Okay, here we go..." he mumbles, tracing a wet palm along the spine from the small of my back and up, digging into the hair at the back of my head. I hear the rush of water approach, the first shower against my hair, into my hair, as his fingers work the water in. I brace myself against the tub, nudge slightly backward, relax as he wets down my entire mass of chestnut, as he slowly eases his way inside me, fills me. Feeling my muscles grow lax, I sigh contently, watch drops trail the outskirts of my personal brown waterfall, sense Heero ruffle my long hair about to soak it all down. The prickle of his pubes against my rear catches me almost by surprise; he slipped in easily this time, no pain at all.
Until my hair is thoroughly wet, he just stays there, content at being inside me, content at the muffled sounds I make at his touch, his twitch, his fingertips massaging my scalp.
It's with quite a bit of willpower I finally reach for the water wheel, shut down the flow and manage to croak out "Enough teasing... Get on with it."
Even with my back turned, my hair in the way, my face down in the tub and stray streams of water brushing against my eyes, I know he's smirking. His hands leave my mass of brown, I feel him shift slightly behind me, going for the makeshift table again. Another cap is popped, and I hear him tap the bottle, squeeze it until it farts. I can't help but snicker - I still am when he nudges the bottle against the back of my head and squeezes again. He works in the shampoo he has already palmed, cupping the strands hanging down my forehead and bringing them up. The bottle almost misses the table on the way back, from the sound of it warbling its way to full stop.
Then, he really starts. His fingers dig into my hair, rub against my head to work the shampoo in. He shifts his hips back, just barely, slowly thrusts the short way back in, repeating the process as his palms cup the strands of brown slipping down over my ears, bringing them up in the massive fold as well, making sure to coat every bit of hair with the strawberry scented gel.
Don't laugh. It's a gift. A gift from the guy currently fucking me. I like it.
My fingers claw at the tiny gap between the tub and the wall tiles, well aware it's not wide enough or deep enough for more than the very tips of my fingers. Done shampooing me, Heero's sticky hands slide down my sides to steady my hips as he pulls further out, his thrusts faster, shallower, repeatedly rubbing against the good spot. I feel the tingle from my gut spread to my balls, know I'm probably already leaking precum against the tub and down on the floor. It doesn't matter; cleaning up here is easy compared to the living room couch, the backyard or the kitchen.
Just as I feel myself hardening again, he pushes deep inside and holds, one hand trailing up my shoulder, out my arm. I know what he wants. With a groan, I fumble about for the handshower, turn the water on and wait for him to tell me to pop it.
When I do as ordered, I'm rewarded with his fingers in my hair, shifting the soaked, shampoo-slicked mass about to rinse it off. Carefully, he rubs my scalp through my hair, working the shampoo out with the same care he worked it in. Distracted, it takes me a while to notice he's started fucking me again; short thrusts, barely more than a reminder.
Water runs into my eyes, and I close them before any of the shampoo follows. I don't care to have lost sight of the porcelain; my senses start focusing at the sound of the hose, his soft grunts, my own matches. His fingers in my hair feel so much more intimate now, his cock in my ass so good.
Then the bastard has the nerve to pause. "Okay, done - turn it off."
I feel like snapping a reply, but grope for the fixture instead to do as I'm told. Bickering won't get me any closer - and we're far from done.
I hear him grab the last bottle, the conditioner he bought to match the shampoo, feel the cool gel applied in a puddle at the back of my head, making me shudder. He snickers, thrusts his hips against my rear again, and I groan, part in pleasure, part in frustration with my lover. I make a mental note to pay him back in full later. Unlike the shampoo, the bottle of conditioner crashes to the floor. We barely notice the ruckus before ignoring it.
His magical hands start their work again, rubbing the conditioner into my hair, and he rocks against me. I brace myself against the far side of the tub, my legs starting to give out. I can hear my cross dangle at my neck, feel my own cock swing back and forth between my legs as his fingers massage the back of my head, as he makes a series of short, hard, deep fucks, not planning to step back and lose his aim.
For he's right on target, and I let him know with hisses and grunts, having trouble articulating anything more refined.
Almost on automatic, I start straightening up, but he quickly puts his hand between my shoulder blades, holding me down until I remember. He brushes my hair aside and kisses the top of my shoulder. "It needs to set for a bit."
I know, damn it. It's not like it's the first time I've washed and conditioned my hair, and it's not the first time I've let him do it. Not the first time like this, either. Back then it might have been spontaneous, but Heero was quick to follow up on the first success, and under his spell and care, I'm lost.
His palms roam my chest, and his thrusts slow down as he pulls back further each time, and each time slides all the way back in. The complexion of my knuckles starts matching the porcelain tub. His lips graze my spine, going up to the back of my neck, back down again, one flat hand rubbing slow circles against my belly, following each of my ragged breaths. "F-finish," I finally manage to croak out.
"As you wish," he whispers after landing another kiss at my neck, sniffing the conditioner in the process. He thrusts fully into me again, I feel his balls slap against my ass and cry out. I know I can't take this for much longer, know he can't either.
Desperately, I fumble for the handshower, grip it tight and all but swing it in Heero's face in my eagerness. He catches my wrist long before impact, wrestles the fixture out of my hands. I scramble for the water wheel, activating the flow. I don't even wait for his word to pop the button.
Warm water against the back of my head, over my head, his hands shifting my hair about, rinsing the conditioner out. His fingers dig into my scalp with the same tenderness his cock throbs in my rear, then resumes the short, teasing thrusts - and I love it.
Clean water brushes across my eyes, and I dare open them again, not caring at the slight burn of residue hair products. I see the last of the conditioner being washed down my hair and along the bottom of the tub to the drain, a few long strands gone loose trapped in the flow.
"Ready for the little extra?" he mumbles in my ear, and automatically, I start to turn my head to give him a glare. Wet hair obscures most of my vision, but again, I know he's smirking.
Thankfully, he doesn't wait for my answer, already well aware what it would be. I feel a quick spray of water across my chest, down over my belly, then briefly dousing my crotch. He tosses the handshower in the tub, and neither of us care to cut the water. I feel the outskirts of the stream touch my wrists, no more than a tickle, a distraction.
A bottle is popped, and he pushes the bottle inside my tent of wet hair, lets me sniff the strawberry scent. At his prod from behind, I moan, nod shakily, straighten up just a bit. He pours a bit of it in his palm, then tosses the bottle aside. His other hand trails down my side, around my thigh and inside to cup my balls, rubbing them slowly as he gently rocks his hips again.
Before I can yell at him for teasing again, his other hand sweeps in from above, the small deposit of shampoo slipping out of his palm and into my wet pubic hair, both hands soon rubbing that in as well, not limiting itself to the small pokeys, but careful to work the big shaft as well. As if his touch right now isn't boon enough, I figure he'll be much easier to talk into a blowjob come morning. Heero has a big thing for strawberries.
Heero has a big thing, period. He builds up a rhythm against both my ass and abdomen, picking up speed. In his hands, I'm as hard as I can be, my cock already throbbing with need, my balls tight, my ass closing in around him. It's never enough.
And it's all too much.
I throw my head back and cry out his name, my long, wet strands brought about like a slow whip to swipe down his chest before hitting my back, my come all over the side of the tub. He doesn't stop pumping me until my legs start to give out. As I strain to remember how to breathe, I feel his palms leave my crotch to steady my hips, his pace building up to near desperation, and without even thinking, I rock back against him, wanting him deeper, deeper-
His freshly cut nails claw at my skin as he hisses out my name, coming inside me as my ass clamps down on him again, still flexing from my own climax. Lax thrusts follows, only to let him empty himself fully.
Slowly, we straighten up. I grasp the handshower on the way, handing it to him when we're both upright. I want nothing more than to crumple in a satisfied puddle at the bathroom floor, utterly spent and sated. His strong grip around my chest holds me up as he hurriedly washes off my crotch and the slight spills against my stomach. I don't know how he does it - how he retains so much stamina after. All I want to do is roll over and fall asleep - but he won't let me fall, keeps me standing, keeps me impaled on his fading erection - and I don't complain at all.
Heero reaches around me to shut the water off, and with a palm against my belly he coaxes me backwards, step by step, until he sits us down on the toilet lid, the two of us still joined. He grabs a towel and proceeds to dry my hair off. I put my arms in my lap, slink forward a bit, play my fingertips against the insides of his thighs, tickling him until he shudders and asks me to stop.
I do, if reluctantly, and sigh contently. I'm too appreciative of his rough toweling of my hair to displease him. It won't be enough to get it dry, but it'll get the worst out any day.
And I love him touching my hair, caring for it, loving it - as long as he doesn't forget to love me as well. Good thing his hair fetish is still in its infant stages.
Lips touch my shoulder, as if he sensed my concerns. I moan, collapse a bit more, feel him twitch inside me, as if ready for more already. I turn my head. "You should pull out..." I muster a grin. "I don't want to lose that condom in there..."
The bastard chuckles. "It'll stick a while longer. Besides, I like it in there."
About to protest, he cuts me off by suckling a spot at the back of my neck, quickly swiping the towel down across my torso to wipe my stomach and crotch dry. I moan as he brush over my still sensitive cock, as if provoking one last delightful shiver. He succeeds. "I like it too..." I grudgingly admit.
Soft laughter. "Okay - better safe than sorry." He rocks his hips against my ass, sneaks a hand between us. "Up."
I feel him slip out of me as I do so. Barely able to keep upright on my jelly-like legs, I support myself against the wall with one hand, glance over my shoulder to watch him carefully pull the rubber off, holding it up. The load is quite impressive.
He catches me looking, smirks at me. I roll my eyes and grin back. He's always trying to impress, that guy.
Not that I'm any better. Or worse.
Heero ties up the condom and tosses it in the waste bin, then stands up and puts the used towel down on the lid. He looks at me and pats it. With a grateful smile, I nod, shuffling over to sit down again before my legs give out.
I watch as he takes the remaining towel, wets half of it in the sink and proceeds to wash and wipe the grime at his own crotch off. He deposits the towel in the hamper, grabs the handshower and starts washing away all the other smears, including the stains I made against the side of the tub.
I'm content with sitting on my ass and watching him work. I know he'll demand I clean out the drain later - but that's only fair. I grab the last towel at the bench and fluff it against the remaining large drops of water trapped in my hair. By the time I'm drying out my ears, Heero finishes up at the tub, unrolls the bathroom rug and rummages about in the cabinet under the sink for my blow-drier.
He's too good to be true, sometimes - but sometimes, too good is true.
A bit later, we're still naked, and I'm again sitting in his lap, straddling him while he struggles to brush out the worst remaining tangles from my long, mostly dry hair. I'm not making his job any easier, the way I'm kissing him thoroughly, playing my fingers through his unruly, dark brown strands.
"You know - it looks like you could use a good wash soon, too," I comment between kisses, grinning impishly.
He smirks, well aware I'm up to no good - and glad for it. He still tugs the brush at the next resistance, making me yelp. At least he didn't pull it hard. "Think you're up for it?"
I kiss his nose, a big leer on my face. "I think I can rise to the occasion..."