sampippy | A Dorm Room at Voorhees Hall, Columbia University, New York, Sunday

"Oh yes," he agreed, licking up her neck. "I promise you we will." His hand pressed back, cupping her hard. "My other fantasy with the couch involved bending you over it, my hand in your hair and seeing how hard you can take it."

"Oh my God." Yes, that definitely hit some kind of a pleasurable spot in her mind, you could tell by the wide eyes. "Okay, that too. Might have to prioritize, 'cause my roommates are coming back in the evening, but I have a desk in my room that probably works too? I mean, the bending over's more important than the furniture."

She was still kind of babbly, but now some of it was dirtier.

"Also it would be nice to have, like, something better to associate it with than term papers and googling whether tears are bad for a MacBook keyboard." Also related to the term papers. "I mean, anything's a better memory than that, but if I can upgrade it to you pulling my hair and like, pushing me to my limits, I'll super take it." A beat. "I guess that goes for the memory and your dick both."

Hey, wait. They'd made it to the front of the couch. So, she gave him a light push so that he'd sit down. It meant giving up his hand for a second, but they'd live.

Hyacinthe sat, grinning up at her with open admiration. "You can have me wherever and however you wish, cherie. Over your desk, against a wall, on my knees..." He peppered her throat with kisses, keeping his hips up so they could open his pants. "I'll give you everything you ask for." Kiss. "Beg." Kiss. "Demand."

Xanthippe had missed that look, too. But really, any look of his because they all seemed to see something completely different in her than what anyone else saw, and it was always something she was greedy for.

She was straddling him, her knees on either side of him on the couch, and she knew she would still have to get up so she could get out of her jeans, but right now she was fine letting him distract her with kisses while she reached down to undo his pants. "If you'd texted me you were coming, I would've worn a skirt."

Just so he knew.

"But then it wouldn't have been a surprise," Hyacinthe said with a grin, his hands pushing her bra up out of the way because, Elua, he wanted to feel her skin under his hands. "Besides, did I tell you I was coming, I'd want you to greet me wearing nothing a'tall."

"Didn't say I was gonna be wearing, like, underwear under the skirt," Xanthippe pointed out, with a shiver because, Elua or no Elua, his hands felt great on her breasts. "So, like, still easy but without you trying to fuck me in the doorway."

Not that there was anything wrong with doing it in the doorway, provided the door was closed.

"'Tis a fair point," Hyacinthe mused, a hand slipping behind to unclasp the bra and remove it immediately. "Did I see you bare, I could not promise that I could do aught beyond fall to my knees and worship you with my mouth, before I even fully got inside."

He leveled a smirk at her. "But, believe me, I would have every intention of getting inside."

Xanthippe snickered a little, then ducked down to kiss him. Just a bit.

Mostly to distract him from how she'd managed to push his pants down, so that she could now wrap her hand around his cock.

Hya grinned up into that kiss - which turned into a groan as he felt her hand. "Cherie," he mumbled against her mouth, hips thrusting up into her fist.

Xanthippe looked far too pleased with herself for that groan. Not that he could see it, what with the kissing, but still.

Her touch was a lot more confident, this time around. She didn't hesitate before giving him a couple of strokes, slow but firm, making sure to drag the pad of her thumb along the underside and lightly brush it over the tip when she got to it.

"I am yours, Xanthippe, do what you will with me," Hya joked, sprawling backwards on the couch, eyes closed. "So long as you keep doing that, I welcome servitude gladly."

"You can start by saying my name again."

He didn't stumble over it like some people did. Like a lot of people did.

And she didn't think the hand on him would change that any, not even with a few quicker strokes. And firmer.

It was like these people didn't have a thorough historical Hellenic grounding. Hyacinthe was no scholar and certainly couldn't speak the language, but who didn't know the name of Socrates' wife?

"Xanthippe," Hyacinthe sighed, thrusting his hips up to her hand. "Do you want me to cry your name while you ride me? Do you want to hear how it sounds when I'm coming deep inside you?" He tried to tug her down on top of him, wanting those sweet nipples in his mouth.

It was like people in places of higher education still managed to be pretty uneducated.

Xanthippe let herself be tugged down, using her free hand for support by his shoulder. "Yes," she sighed, "and yes. And, like, in any other situation you can think of." Which were many, she was sure. "Like..." She had to swallow, then wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Then she smirked a little. "Like, whispering it in my ear when you're holding me to your chest, and you're fingerbanging me, right before you tell me to tell you when I'm... close."

Hyacinthe smiled up at her. "Sounds like something you've thought about," he noted, voice a little deeper than before. "If I ask nicely, Xanthippe, will you tell me all the dirty fantasies you have?"

And then his mouth met her breast, sucking in the tip to lave with his tongue over and over again until it was a sharp bud in his mouth.

"Depends on how nicely... you ask."

Or how well he put her in a mindset where she felt comfortable to share. But judging by how haltingly that came out because halfway through her eyes fluttered closed, because his mouth on her breast was another thing she'd missed? It wasn't actually going to be much of a problem.

Hyacinthe didn't point out he was very good at asking nicely. He rather thought he was demonstrating the point.

With one last hard suck on the first breast, he kissed and licked his way over to the second, intent on giving it the same treatment. He wanted her soft and moaning, already imagining that first deep thrust up into her on the couch.

Xanthippe'd kind of been imagining it since the moment she'd brought the idea up to him, no lie.

The hand she'd had on his cock had become kind of useless in her distraction, but that was probably okay. He'd get more than enough attention later on. Right now, she shifted to press that hand against the couch as well, as a little moan escaped her lips.

And then she pried her eyes open to actually watch him, and that caused another sound, this one more of a gasped whimper.

Hya glanced up, catching her eyes with his and grinned at her around her nipple, face a study in lust and mischief.

And with her hand no longer making him stupid, he was free to use his own, unbuttoning her pants to ease them down her hips as far as he could.

"When I touch you, cherie, will I find you wet?" he asked, lips close enough to brush over her taut nipple with every word. "Wet enough to take me up?"

You know, she was actually so hypnotized by watching his mouth move against her that it took several seconds for it to register that he'd actually spoken to her. Like, she had to blink a couple of times as the words echoed in her head, hoping to actually be processed.

Thankfully most things he said were well worth thinking over.

"Oh, my God," she said, looking back up into his eyes rather than staring at his mouth, her own eyes wide like he'd asked a dumb question, "what do you think? Like maybe I haven't been that wet since before we made it onto this couch?"

Probably not, but it had felt that way. And by now, it was also definitely 100% true. Also, she was trying another little smirk on for size. "But I think you should make sure," she said, nodding. "You know, just in case."

"I think you're right," he said, sliding a hand down her stomach towards the hem of her underwear. "I do need to verify. Because I won't let you sink down on my cock until you're absolutely, exquisitely wet."

His hand slid beneath the fabric, between her legs, and then plunged into her fold, gliding over her pearl and to her entrance.

What were his requirements for what qualified as 'absolutely, exquisitely wet'? Because his fingers found no resistance; she was hot and slick and inviting, and the fabric against the back of his hand a little on the damp side.

"Oh, shit," she gasped, eloquently, first for the feel of his fingers moving over the bump of her clit, and then inside her. Her hips ground down against his hand.

Wetter than that.

Or maybe that was just an excuse for him to thrust up into her with his fingers, his thumb rubbing circles around that bundle of nerves. "You make the most delicious noises, Xanthippe."

Cherie had risen to his tongue first, but she really liked it when he whispered her name.

Xanthippe liked cherie too, adored it, even. But he was right, she had a definite and special fondness for hearing her name. Maybe it was the utter specificity of it: it was undoubtedly just hers.

Also, excuse or not, she was probably getting wetter by the second around his fingers. "Yeah?" she gasped. "Maybe you'll have to keep making me make them."

"A worthy goal to work towards," Hyacinthe rasped, his phallus sweetly aching for the joy his fingers were experiencing now. "Ahh, Xan, I want to make you cry out a hundred times but I need you too much to draw it out now..."

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