tonight is the night we've been waiting for [closed]

[fusshionable]

Who| Porrim + Nick Sr.
What| A re-do on their first meeting.
Where| The lobby bar.
When| Forward-dated to after the Arena finale.
Warnings/Notes| Sex sex sexy sex, language.



It's been a long six weeks.

Not that Porrim's been pining, or anything as ridiculous as that. No, she's a sensible woman, and she has a job that keeps her busy, especially as her Tributes come filtering back into the Capitol. She has doting to do, interviews to ferry them back and forth to, opportunities to arrange. But to say that she hasn't been thinking about her encounter with Nick in the lobby bar last month, well, that would be a bald-faced lie.

She's been watching his Arena endeavors with a mixture of amusement and regret. Because she can tell that he has no qualms about killing--he's exactly the kind of Tribute the Gamemakers love. And really, almost every Tribute she knows has killed, out of necessity, or not. And she tries not to let it bother her, because being stuck in those Arenas is sure to fuck with you in some way or another. So she's stayed detached, waiting until he's back and he can talk with her to form an opinion. And in the meantime, she sends him gifts every so often, with clever little notes. And the last one--over a hundred bottles of vodka with her last note, reminding him that they need to finish what they started.

It's almost become a joke, to her, their first meeting that was cut so terribly short, but it's left her curious, and she very much wants to seal the deal. To give him a chance to redeem himself for that 'five minutes' comment. So when she watches Nick's arena death, she knows that it's time to put her little plan into action.

The very next morning, and every morning until he shows up, she'll be sitting in the lobby bar, sipping champagne with her phone turned off and not a stitch of underwear underneath her dress. She's not desperate, she's not looking over her shoulder every few minutes. She's a patient woman.

Comments

[streetsmarts]

There's a part of it that is just vaguely reminiscent of pounces he'd rather not recall, but when he crushes down the vague idea that she's a zombie he can just appreciate the little rush of adrenaline it gives him.

The added assurance to his ego earns a strained chuckle from him, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth when he watches her with content, half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, you do." He tells her, like she needs him to confirm that. The whimper just does things for him, man. It makes him almost growl with anticipation, hands moving up her and squeezing whatever he touches while he presses in deep.

"Damn, you're good." He murmurs in tone, voice lower like it's a secret somehow. "I can't keep my hands off you."

[fusshionable]

He's such a cocky bastard. Really, he's pretty insufferable. Under normal circumstances she'd be rolling her eyes. But here, in this context, it's just kind of hot. It weirdly does it for her.

And so does the way his hands move over her, squeezing and plying at her flesh, and she moans in response. "Please don't," she replies. She's very much okay with his hands-on approach. "Don't you--fucking--dare take your hands off me."

[streetsmarts]

Playing lines like that is always a risky gamble with ladies, but most of the time he's found it pays off. There's nothing more satisfying than being assured and in control, far better than some squirmy loser who doesn't know what to do with a woman like Porrim.

Nick knows just what to do. Fuck her. Obviously. Rock his hips up against her and feel her and taste her and graze his hands over every inch of her. That's what you do with Porrim.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He assures, dragging his fingers up her waist, breast and collarbone until he can hold his hand against her neck and jaw and lean in for yet another kiss. He crushes their lips together, seeking intensity as he moves more and more erratically. The sounds building in his throat are indication enough that he's getting close, but his movements read it too.

[fusshionable]

Good. He's not an idiot. He knows when to stop playing games. She is so not in the mood for games right now. What she is in the mood for is everything he's giving her, the drag of his fingers over her skin. And then he's kissing her again and there's no more need for talk, no more need for veiled threats or begging or anything more embarrassing.

She can tell that he's getting close, and damned if she's going to let him come before she does. So Porrim bears down, tightening, brow furrowing as she concentrates on the pleasure building in her core, on all that sweet friction she gets every time his hips meet hers.

[streetsmarts]

He's a little bit of an idiot, but not when it comes to getting what he wants. And boy, does he want this. Months of scraping by on the barest amounts of human contact, when sex was compromising and impossible to come by have left him with hungers and desires he'd thought were insatiable. Porrim, as it happens, seems to encompass those desires thoroughly. She's hot, she's exciting and she's interested in a detached way that drives him crazy.

Speaking of crazy, the way she tightens and shifts against him is enough to draw a wobbly sort of groan from him. It's not a cool sound, it's an unhinged and needy noise. It feels like his hips can't move any faster and he's greedily taking all he can get, picking up on her competitive vibe.

"C'mon, sugar." He huffs encouragingly, hands kneading against her to help with the stimulation. He pinches and flicks at a nipple, pressing kisses to her jawline as he does.

[fusshionable]

He's redoubling his efforts, and Porrim certainly appreciates that little sound he lets out--it's almost endearing, really, how needy he sounds. He toys at her nipple and vocalizes his encouragement and that's exactly what she needs to push over that edge, to tighten around him and come with a cry that's far louder than it should be. Anyone could be listening on the other side of the door, but she doesn't care about that right now. She can't think about anything other than the white hot heat that flares in her limbs, clinging to him as she rides out her orgasm.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes into his neck, staying tensed around him, working toward his release now to reward him for how fucking good she feels.

[streetsmarts]

Nick can hardly care about the volume either, not when it's a mark of pride to make her cry out like that. It isn't a sound he's heard in a long, long time and it's like music to his hears. He doubts he'll be forgetting it soon, seeing as how it's still sending tingles up and down him even now.

His thighs tense as he bucks upward and buries deep, gritting his teeth as she keeps clenched and moving just those few more shallow times before it's all too much and just enough. The grunt he makes isn't precisely the most attractive thing, but it's followed by a pump of his hips as he meets his own climax. He keeps up the movement for as long as he can, drawing out the pleasure until it's slowly replaced with mild exhaustion. Fuck being old.

"That.." He starts slow, pulling out carefully and holding his hands out to steady her in an almost gentlemanly manner. "Was worth the wait." Oh god, he's winking.

[fusshionable]

Porrim arches into him, pressing her hips forward to meet the surging of his own, letting her spine stretch out--tensing and relaxing as the last ripples of her own pleasure fade and are replaced with faint, sleepy contentment. She watches with hooded eyes as Nick finishes, a faint smirk playing around her lips when he finally moves to pull out, using his hands as support until she's got her feet planted firmly once more, albeit on wobbly knees.

She can't help a good-natured eye roll. "I'd have hoped so," she replies, even if that makes her sound cocky. She has a good reason to be cocky, and she knows it. "You doing alright, old man?"