Making Out

Jun. 29th, 2010 02:22 am
hopenight: (Default)
[personal profile] hopenight

Title: Making Out
Author: [ profile] hopenight
Rating: R to NC-17
Word Count: 1, 261
Pairing: Will/Finn
Warnings: student-teacher relationship, MWP (making out without plot), and smutty boy love
Prompt: First hot and heavy make-out session between Will and Finn from the Winn Prompt Meme! (requested by [ profile] alicebluegown16)
A/N: This is my first smutty fic and first time writing in second person. I’m apologize if it’s bad.


He tastes like mint and coffee. You’re kind of surprise that he tastes like that. You expected candy and grease. But he does have a habit of surprising you…

So he tastes like mint and coffee. You press your tongue to the roof of his mouth and savor the flavor.

You decide that these are your newest favorite flavors in the whole wide world as you explore his mouth. His tongue slips into your mouth (and you know that he tastes ice cream and that glass of scotch you had to calm your nerves).

There is a battle of tongues suddenly. Both of you are used to being dominant, neither of you are willing to surrender. It’s a dance for supremacy like when you had to teach Sue to tango. He is taller and stronger and all the more powerful. But you have experience. You can picture him: tall and dark and wild eyed under you as he whimpers your name.

You shudder as he decidedly rests a hand on your back.

You and him have only been at this for several seconds and already you are hard. You pull away and he stares at you for a long time. Slowly you snake your hands down in between his legs and palm his own erection through the worn denim of his second hand jeans.

He shudders at the contact at the exact same time you do.

He throws his head back and mewls. It’s the loveliest sound in the world, coming almost guttural from his throat. Your eyes follow the bob his Adam’s apple makes from the vibration. You feel feverish and flushed and giddy like you’re his young age instead of many years his senior. Slowly, you lean in and capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

The lips are chapped and moist. He moans into the kiss and you want to know everything about his body. You want to map every curve with your hands. You want to map his face out with kisses. You want to mark your claim by decorating his chest and neck with love-bites. You don’t want to take him to bed.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t care if this leads to sex or not.

You just want to know every inch of his body. Worship it like he deserves to be worshipped. You want to stay here on your couch with him forever. With the air tickling against hot skin and his mouth crushed against yours passionately.

Because he is yours.

“Will,” he whispers as the kiss breaks. His deep brown eyes are sparkling with lust. His pupils are blown with desire. He tosses his head back, exposing his powerful throat and practically sings your name, “Will.”

You haven’t been this hard in years, not since you were a teenager yourself in the back of your ex-wife dad’s Pinto after prom. You lean into him again kissing him decisively, demanding entrance into his warm mouth.

You feel a pair of muscular arms wrap around you, yanking you forward into his lap. Suddenly his erection and yours are rubbing against each other. You and him both let out a simultaneous moan of pleasure. It’s long and low and resonating starting in the chest and being belt out like a symphony.

You move in and begin to kiss his neck. You begin to lick and nip and kiss the soft skin. His scent begins to drift into your nose. He smells of sweat and desire and soap and AXE. His big hands slink up into your curls and tug at them none too gently. You bite down on the skin of his neck, not breaking it, but sucking to leave a mark.

He is yours.

He lets out a drawn off moan. It’s fill with passionate.

“Yes,” he whimpers none too gently, “Yes. Oh God…Will.”

You pull away and grin, leading up a trail of kisses up his neck. Suddenly you feel his hand slide up your shirt. You shudder as hot skin meets hot skin. His fingers ghost over your muscled stomach almost tentatively. You look up from the attention you’ve been giving his neck.

You stare at him. He stares back. There is a wicked light in his eye.

Suddenly, you’re on your back. He grins: slow and sensual. His hand explores ever contour of your muscles. Tenatively, you slip yours hand under his shirt. He gasps in pleasure, delighted at your touch. The gasp reverberates through his muscular chest. He moves closer and underneath your palm you can feel his muscles shift at the movement.

You remove your hands from his shirt and slip your arms around his neck. He leans in ever closer. One arm bracing the edge of the sofa. The other hand tentatively tweaking your nipples until they’re hard... You let out a soft whimper of pleasure. He shudders as you whine.

You begin to chant his name.

“Finn. Finn. Finn. Finn. Finn.”

It sounds like a prayer and sentence. This chant is the key to either your damnation or salvation. It is the name of him: the one you are risking everything for. He plunders your mouth greedily with the excitably of youth. Your hands ghost down his back.

You can feel the muscles shift under your hands. You trace his spine and he whimpers into your mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist. And he is overcome by sensations and falls back to the other end of the couch. Your legs firmly locked on his waist. His arms firmly locked around your middle.

You and him are like jigsaw puzzle pieces that people would never expect to fit together.

You run yours hands through his short hair as your teeth clash against his. As you drag your teeth against his bottom lip before letting his tongue enter. Your tugging at his shirt: soft and familiar in your hands.

Too many clothes, he’s wearing too many clothes. His shirt slides off easily enough. He and you are breathing heavily in the darkened room. The clock chimes midnight.

He smiles.

You grin.

He rips your shirt off, pulls off the t-shirt underneath. You and him are on your sofa, shirtless and in worn jeans. The sounds of panting fill the room, better than any song. His erection is pressed against your thigh, and yours is pressed against his waist.

“I’m so hard.”

“Me too.”

“We should remedy that.”


You both are at each other again with no remorse. The room smells like sweat and desire. It’s a smell that makes you shudder in anticipation as he comes with a cry and you’re not far behind him.

If this is how the first make-out session goes, then you can barely imagine how the sex will be.

But the sex doesn’t matter. If you never sleep with him ever because this is the single hottest thing that has ever happened to you in a long, long time.

He stares at you. His gaze bores into you. You stare back at him.

He speaks the question in a voice that makes you whimper in need.

“Ready for round two?”

Like he even has to ask.


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