That was a hell of a party.
Christina lounges against the arm of her sofa, head lolled back and pursing her lips at the ceiling. The world feels so real when she's like this- fucked all the way up to Cloud Nine and back down to Earth on cheap weed and expensive booze. Her feet are bare against Vinnie's thigh, worn denim scratching against the delicate skin of her arch. Her fingers- the ones not occupied with the joint that she's passing to him- can't stop tangling in her pearls. Their surfaces are hard, smooth. Cool. She idly twists them around her wrist; stops; lets go. Watches them spin back to their proper shape. So real.
Vinnie's utterly boneless beside her, and so very, very still. She can't remember ever seeing him so still; the boy can't even sit in a chair without shifting and squirming, and trying to wrap his body around it like an affectionate house cat. That took such getting used to that now his stillness is almost perturbing. Like realizing your little boy has grown up, except it's a sign that he's baked, not a sign that he's matured. Not to mention that little boys probably wouldn't stare so- intense and enraptured, pupils blown wide- at the corners of her mouth.
She wonders briefly if her lipstick has smudged, but decides she doesn't care. He's so far out of his skull, he probably won't even remember this tomorrow, and his stare is refreshing, in a way. His gaze is not locked on her tits.
He takes a lazy puff of smoke and then limply offers the joint back to her. She takes it from him and drags; breathes out a small trail of tiny little Os. She grins at him, running her tongue across her teeth. He doesn't seem to notice; he has eyes only for the curve of her lower lip, his expression one of sleepy little-boy wonder.
Christina smiles at him, teasing and indulgent. Her touch on his hand lingers a second too long as she gives him the roach. She sits up for a closer look, feathering her fingers across his cheek. "When you shave, you look like such a baby," she murmurs, her voice sounding like a langorous purr even to her own ears. That simple touch has set her nerves on fire. She feels alive with tingles and shivers and the collision of a thousand tiny stars at the solid, silk-smooth reality of his body.
With an air of obedience, he drags the last bit of smoke into his lungs, holding it deep in his chest while he waits to answer her. She can feel his pulse in his wrist pounding against her ankle. Real; alive.
Eventually, he exhales in a rush and says, with an expression like a shrug, "That would be why I don't shave."
She wonders how hard he's fought to be taken seriously in this town, when he's got the face of a cherub and the figure of Peter Pan. (Christina has wryly joked in the past that photographers wish she had his body.) They're almost the same age- born a mere four years and two days apart- and yet, when she sees him, she sees a boy. When Vinnie grows his hair long and his beard out, he looks like a child pretending, wearing the costume of a man like a shield.
Her palm is still against his cheek.The tiniest prickle of beard stubble near his temple scratches at her fingertips. She has to stifle a giggle at the incongruity.
"Oh, but it's adorable," Christina teases, stroking the baby-smooth line of his jaw.
They are physically closer to each other than they've ever been outside of a photoshoot. He looks hesitant and unsure, as if she might suddenly bite him. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself, or with her. His hand comes up between them and she wonders for a moment if he intends to reach for her breast. Instead, he touches a lock of hair beneath her chin, taking it between his fingers like something rare and precious. His hand is shaking as he tucks it behind her ear.
His nervousness undoes her. She leans forward and closes the last remaining inches of space between them to press her mouth against his. She licks traces of gin from his tongue, inhales the scent of cigarettes and pot on his breath. She grasps his lip between her teeth and thrills to the animal whine of need that breaks in his throat.
Christina breaks the kiss to bury her face against his neck so he doesn't see her laughing smile. "Adorable," she murmurs against his neck, his pulse beating like a rabbit's against her lips. She tilts her head to kiss him again.
She drags her tongue across his teeth. She drags him off of her couch by his still-trembling hand.
Christina can hear Vinnie undressing quickly in her bedroom while she strips in front of her bathroom mirror. From a small jewelry box on her bathroom counter, she takes a set of bobby pins and begins twisting her hair above her neck and back from her face.
Facing her from her bathroom counter is perhaps her favorite toy.
The plastic cock is a deep violet color, monstrous in size and knobbed on one end so that she can slip it inside; so that she can use it without a harness. (She never has. She's grown too fond of the feel of the leather.)
She reaches up to cup her own naked breasts, softly moaning to herself as she squeezes each nipple. A corresponding rush of heat and wetness floods between her legs. She thinks of the undoubtedly naked boy in her bed and the heat becomes a throb.
She slides one bare foot along the floor, spreading herself open, and she slips the knob inside. She shivers and closes her eyes with a hiss, the pleasure of the cool plastic like the embrace of an old friend. Quickly, she steps into the black leather harness and steps out the door.
Vinnie's face when she enters the room is like a symphony: the widening of his eyes is the opening notes, the breath that he exhales is the chorus. The nervous dart of his tongue to wet his lips is the crescendo. She smiles at him with all of her teeth, feeling like a goddess bestowing a blessing.
"You're absolutely gorgeous," he says, and says it so earnestly that Christina is nearly dizzy from the sense of her own power.
Almost of its own accord, her hand slides down the length of her belly, slipping beneath the harness to touch herself. Her body is rioting for her to take him and take him now.
"Mmmm," she murmurs, closing her eyes. "Thank you." She slides her fingers back out of the harness and wraps them tightly around her cock. She feels the smile on her face widen as she does, and she opens her eyes to observe the effect she's having.
Vinnie looks drunker on her than she has ever seen him on anything else.
"Oh," he whispers, and it seems less than a second before he is out of her bed and on his knees. His hands are on her ass. His mouth is on her cock. The knob inside of her twists just so, and Christina goes up on her toes like a dancer. Her hands slide into his Vinnie's hair, and she strokes the back of his neck like a beloved pet.
"Such a good boy," she whispers, and then she leans just a litle bit harder against him.
She's never really noticed before how beautiful his lips are. They're pouty and full and bright pretty pink, like a child too innocent to let her fuck his mouth. Her hands tighten into fists at the roots of his hair, and near her thigh, she can feel the heat of a blush suffusing his face. She wants to laugh a little at that, but it's very, very hard to when his lips are pursed in a wide, wet 'O', trying to suck down everything she has to give.
The knobbed end of the dildo gently twists and turns inside her with each movement of his head, and it's all she can do not to grab him and force it down his throat 'til he gags. Christina forces herself to be gentle and patient. She cups his chin in her palm and tilts his head up. She wraps her other hand around her cock and tilts it down. His fingers clench hard on her ass and she arches forward, pushing it deeper into both of them.
She throws her head back with the softest of moans and decides she's had enough games.
"Get in the bed," she whispers, and quickly, he complies.
The back of his neck is glistening with sweat. It seems to her that Vinnie's glowing all over, highlighting every feature she's never thought to see.
"Look at you," she says in amused surprise, tracing a hand along his damp, quivering body. His nape is hot against her palm, his muscles pulled thin and taut all the way down to the back of his thighs. "I can count all your bones," she marvels aloud, tracing the hard nubs of his spine.
She hears Vinnie's breath catch in his throat, as if he wants to speak, and she preemptively silences him with a firm, wet kiss on one of his vertebrae. A pronounced shudder ripples through him beneath her lips, and she smiles against his skin. Her lips and tongue dance a fairy trail all over his back, contouring against each of his sharp, awkward angles. She sharply bites him on the hip to leave a mark that she can see.
His breathing is all in short gasps, making his shoulders rise and fall like a tidal wave. She lays her cheek against his back and presses a kiss to the very top of his tailbone. "Vinnie," she whispers against his skin. "Tell me something."
Her fingers trail up the back of his thigh like little spiders seeking a target. She traces one near where her lips are, then further down. She draws a circle with her nail, finds its center, and pushes.
He gasps and comes alive with her touch, tremoring and squirming, his feet on the floor scrambling for a foothold. He moans into her pillows and his fingers clench tightly into her sheets.
Christina smiles and murmurs, "Have you ever done this before?"
He twists and writhes on her bed, still gasping, still moaning, and now grinding the edge of one of her pillowcases into nothing between his teeth. Tiny sounds escape his throat, sounds that would be words if he wasn't holding back from her.
She raises her hand and strikes his ass with the flat of her palm, lightning -quick with a crack like thunder.
"Shit," he hisses, squirming against her probing hand, and finally he admits, "Not with a girl."
Images fill Christina's mind of Vinnie bucking beneath John or Aaron, or one of those long-ago men he used to work with. A smile spreads across her face. "Ohhh," she murmurs wickedly, "well, then, let me tell you what you've been missing."
He turns his head to peer at her over his shoulder. His tongue darts out against his lip again, and he says, "Really rather you show me at this point."
Christina bursts out laughing. Vinnie gives her a glazed smile, leaning his ass a little more towards her. So small a movement, she almost doesn't notice.
Two more of her fingers join the first, spreading him open. He groans and buries his face against the pillows once more.
"It's all about stamina," Christina explains. She goes up again on the points of her toes, teasing him with the barest tip of her cock. He shudders, gasps. Moans something that might be her name. "Are you paying attention, darling?" She spreads her fingers wide and pushes into him.
His whole body arches up with a sound like a choked-back moan. He is shaking again, and from somewhere deep in his belly, he looses another animal whine. Hungry. Pleading.
She wiggles her hips the slightest bit, easing in another fraction of a centimeter.
Vinnie takes the hint, draws a breath, and repeats, like a student at lessons, "Stamina."
Christina smiles to herself and makes a little "mmm" of approval. "See, when boys are finished, the sex is all over, isn't that right?"
Inside her, she can feel the dildo being pushed deeper at the same inching pace it's being pushed into him. Her own body is crying out for the same release that Vinnie's is. She wants him, needs him, needs this, needs it now-
"But with this," she continues, her voice growing thick, her own desire mounting, and she can't wait anymore, she can't-
- and oh, God, now she pushes and it's in and they're locked so tight it's like he's a part of her own body- oh- oh-
She leans over him, hissing a little as her nipples brush against his shoulderblades, and she whispers, "With this, I can fuck you all night long."
"Oh, God," Vinnie murmurs, throaty and eager.
Their bodies writhe and contort together like living fire. He is full of her, she is full of it, and both of them shudder and gasp and pull. She lets go of the toy so that she can reach around his hip to grasp him. His cock pulses beneath her fingers as she circles it, tracing invisible patterns with her nails. She gives an experimental squeeze combined with a thrust, and he cries out, arching his ass higher up towards her.
Inside her, the dildo presses and twists, hard knobs on delicate skin. She sinks her nails into his hips, hissing sharply threw her teeth. She lies over him, thrusting hard into his ass as she wildly pumps his cock.
Yes, yes, yes. The first wave is building inside of her, so close she can practically taste it-
Blindly pushing and pulling, bending and reaching; she almost forgets Vinnie is there at all when she comes. For a moment, it's as if she's floating outside of the tangle of limbs they make, ghostly and omnipresent somewhere near the ceiling. She can see him thrashing beneath her, trying to push back onto her cock and frantically fuck her hand at the same time. She can see herself, flushed and alive, still pounding into him with sharp gasps and full-throated moans. It may be a moment or it may be forever. It's timeless; perfect.
So real, she thinks, before the riptide of a second orgasm tears her back into her body and she forgets that she ever left it at all.
She can see pale streaks of coming dawn through the gaps in her blinds. It casts everything she can see in rosy pink glow.
Vinnie is sprawled beside her, half-off the bed, his legs flopped haphazardly beneath him. She looks at the expanse of his damp, sticky body and thinks dimly, He's pretty in half-light.
Eventually, he slides up closer to her on the mattress. She curves her palm around the back of his head as he rests his face against the skin of her belly. One of his arms is stretched along her side; the other is thrown across her thighs. It'd be an embrace if he had anything left.
She slides her fingers into his hair, easing her way through the tangles, down the nape of his neck, and back up again. Like a beloved pet.
"You can stay here if you don't snore," she offers, scooting down just an inch to get comfortable. His head is still on her stomach.
"Curl up at the foot of your bed like a puppy," he says, his tongue too thick for his mouth.
Christina can't help but laugh. She was thinking the same thing.
More light seeps into her room as his breathing becomes slow and even against her skin. He doesn't snore at all, she thinks, as she's carried off into sleep by the warmth of his breath and the weight of his body.