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Anna's dress for the Dawn Treader premiere is sleeveless, and very (very) low-cut. Politely, everybody is pretending not to notice the gorgeous pale swell of her breasts almost bursting from her dress. Everybody except Skandar, that is.

"Seriously, how are you doing this?" Skandar hisses in the general direction of all nearby men.

"Some people have self-control, Skandar," Will tells him, rolling his eyes.

"Or are gay," Skandar mutters resentfully.


They're all hanging around in Anna's hotel room late that night, post after-party, when Anna finally loses her temper with him. It's fair enough, really, Skandar thinks, because he's been staring at her tits all night. He tried not to, he really did, but every time he spoke to her his gaze would end up drifting downwards. She was very patient with him, but her patience clearly has a time limit.

"Okay, that's it," she snaps suddenly, leaping up from the bed, and Skandar finds it difficult to be alarmed by her sudden outburst because the effort of leaping up like that makes her breasts bounce in quite a distracting manner. "Everybody out!"

There are some loud noises of protest.

"Everybody out except Skandar," Anna clarifies, and the protests get quieter, turn into whispered speculations.

As everyone files out of the room, Skandar hears Ben mutter, "She's going to give him a talking-to," and he gulps.

"All right," says Anna in a very business-like way. She comes to the foot of the bed, standing in front of him, and thoughtfully ignores the bewildered look on his face. "You," she says, and Skandar realises that with him sitting and her standing, her chest is at eye-level. He tries not to stare, and fails spectacularly. "Need to—" Anna attempts to continue, and then stops. She reaches out, cups his chin gently, and tilts his head up. "You need to learn that I have a face," she says softly.

Skandar blushes. Anna's hand falls from his face and she folds her arms, apparently unaware that this pushes her breasts together, making her cleavage even deeper and much more distracting.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Anna sighs in exasperation, and suddenly starts fiddling with a zip at her side, which makes Skandar's heart leap into his throat.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" he stammers in a thin, wavery voice.

"This," says Anna, and with a shimmy, she eases the unzipped dress down to her hips.

Skandar's brain short-circuits.

Anna's breasts. Anna's breasts. Anna is showing him her breasts. And they're pretty much the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. She's standing there with her hands on her hips, chest thrust forwards, breasts heaving with her (still slightly exasperated) breathing, and Skandar can't take his eyes off them.

He tries.

He fails.

He really wants to touch them, and the next thing he knows, he's reaching out. He stops himself in alarm. "Agh," he says in a quiet, croaky voice, "sorry, can I—?"

Anna blinks at him in disbelief. Suddenly she's grasping his hand from where it hovers in mid-air, and placing it on herself, on her right breast (the one that seems slightly bigger, which is inordinately hot to Skandar for some reason). He feels warm soft skin against his palm, and instantly starts to stiffen in his trousers. He swallows, blushing hard, as Anna's hand gently slips away from his and he's left holding her breast, feeling the quick thud of her heartbeat beneath the skin.

He tries to gather his senses.

He fails.

Instead, he strokes her, smoothes his hand over the curve and feels her nipple harden against his thumb. He rolls it between thumb and finger, experimentally, and her breath catches.

His other hand is on the other one before she's even breathing again.

He cups them in his hands, feeling the weight of them. He presses them together and stares at the deep line of her cleavage. He rubs the callused pads of his fingertips against her nipples, amazed at how stiff they are under his touch. She's really breathing quite heavily now, and he manages to tear his eyes away to look at her face. She's blushing too, just a slight pink flush in her cheeks, and she looks more beautiful to him now than she ever has.

"Is—is this okay?" he asks feebly.

She says nothing at first, and his hand slip from her breasts so that he's holding her just above her waist.

"Yeah," she says then, grinning and biting her bottom lip.

He grins too, in relief. "Yeah?"


She reaches out, and to his surprise, caresses his cheek. She slides her hands over his shoulders, and pulls him into a hug. This, of course, means that Skandar's face ends up buried between her tits, and despite the awkward twisting of his legs, he's pretty sure she can feel his erection. She starts to pull away a little bit, but he doesn't want to move. He can smell her perfume mingling with her sweat, and if he moved his head just a little bit to one side, his mouth would actually be touching—

In seconds, he's gone from gently pressing his lips to her breast to stroking his tongue wildly over the skin, teasing her nipples with it—and then, unable to stop himself, sucking one into his mouth, suckling, nibbling, messy, and he's so hard he feels like he's going to explode. Anna's breathless, her hand clutching at his back, thumb stroking against the sweat-curled hair at the nape of his neck. He takes her other breast in his hand, squeezes, strokes, so turned on he's frantic.

When he pulls back for a second, he sees the way he's turned her pale skin dark red around one nipple, sees tiny little teethmarks. He's shocked, but then she's yanking his head up and bending down to kiss him, passionate and just a little bit desperate. He's so caught up in the kiss that he jumps when he feels her hand brush the crotch of his trousers.

"You're hard," she whispers against his lips.

"Uh-huh," he says weakly, and then, "sorry."

She laughs, but it's a fond sort of laugh. "You don't have to apologise, you idiot," she says, and starts to unzip him.

"Wh—" Skandar starts, gaping at her.

"Take them off," Anna says, very matter-of-factly, and Skandar stands up and does so, almost tripping over himself in his hurry. His boxers come off too, and his cock is so hard that it springs right up against his stomach, full and stiff. He looks at her, standing there in front of him, dress pushed down and tits exposed, and he feels like he could come just from the sight of her and the friction of his dick pushing up against his shirt.

She steps forward, pulls him in close to kiss him again. Her hand slips between their bodies, brushes his cock, and he jolts. She turns him around, lies down on the bed in front of him, her breasts spilling out to her sides. She pushes them together, and watches him expectantly.

Skandar clambers onto the bed, straddling her, hardly able to believe this is really happening. Heart pounding, he takes his cock in his fist and presses it gently to her chest. Her hard nipple against the head of his erection makes him shudder, squirm. She's watching him carefully, but when he looks her in the eye he's blushing again, feeling like he shouldn't be doing this, like he's not allowed.

"Will this get it out of your system?" Anna whispers, and very casually, she licks her palm and smoothes it over the length of him.

"I don't know about that," Skandar says shakily.

He slides his cock to the space between her breasts, and she takes them in her hands once again, squeezes them together, trapping his aching cock between them. It's like nothing he's ever felt before—smooth and warm, tight but yielding. Not to mention the sight of her grabbing herself like that, nipples poking out from between her fingers, as she envelopes him between her breasts. He tries to pull himself together, but then she's shaking them, jiggling them back and forth around his cock, creating slick friction that makes him groan.

"This really does it for you, doesn't it?" she grins, looking bemused.

"Y-you could say that, yeah."

He thrusts, bucking his hips forward, and his cock slides, wet with his own pre-come and Anna's spit. The dark red head of it pushes out between her pale breasts, just below her neck, and he stares, pulls back, does it again—again—again—and god, it's so good. Sliding back and forth, fucking the tight space wildly, staring down at her tits clutched in her hands, her red-painted fingernails pressing into the pale skin. In no time at all, he's coming, moaning loudly and losing it completely as he spurts hot and white across her, spilling into the valley of her cleavage and splashing her throat and chin.

"Oh, my god," is all he can manage after that. He thinks he might be shaking. He slides off her, flopping down onto a pillow. "I think I've wanted to do that since I was like...thirteen," he admits, in his post-orgasm daze.

"Don't say things like that," Anna replies, "it's creepy."

"Sorry," says Skandar, and then a sudden, awful thought strikes him. "Oh...shit."


He lowers his voice. "I just...have the horrible feeling everybody stuck around outside to eavesdrop on you telling me off."

The two of them exchange vaguely horrified looks. Skandar sits up, awkwardly, wondering if he should go check.

"Hey, where are you going, mister?" Anna snaps. "Some people haven't had an orgasm yet, you know."