fic: Spooning Leads To Forking
Sep. 30th, 2016 12:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Spooning Leads To Forking
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3790
Summary: Scout is used to one-night stands and hook ups. He runs into some difficulty actually figuring out how to get the "dating" and "romance" part just right.
Author's note: There's a couple posts like this and this that never fail to amuse me on the subject of spooning.
Buck Turner is mentioned on one of Scout's items. In lore, he's a legendary runner who was was famous for sleeping with other men's wives.
Kink bingo: facesitting/queening.
Miss Pauling was on the couch, and Scout had gone full brain freeze. He didn't have a damn clue what to do.
If Buck Turner was here, he'd punch Scout right in the face for choking and letting down the legacy, from all those other legendary runners who also happened to be legendary lovers. And frankly, Scout would welcome someone slapping some sense into him. Spy hadn't given him enough hard knocks to actually figure out what the hell to do. The asshole didn't even leave him a complimentary manual between the dinner mints and the thrown salad fork that narrowly missed maiming him.
Scout had read dozens of books on this, but like that exam day blank, he couldn't think of a single solution.
If she was some girl he picked up at a chicken joint, there would be no question. Hands on the titties, remember to go down on her because like hell he was getting the nickname minuteman, and he'd be back in time to hit the beer joint for a nightcap. Her name would already on the way out, because face it, he wasn't seeing her again.
But every time she looked at him, glasses slid down her nose, and bright green eyes full of warmth, he just lost it. Sure, he was a catch and a half, handsome as hell, charming and rich to boot, but he knew from the moment he saw her that he had to up his game. Miss Pauling was worth so much more than pick up lines and stupid cliches.
Scout had been trying to figure out this one little problem, but he didn't have a frigging clue who to go to. After the last trip with Spy, he wasn't about to go to that bastard again. He was no good at libraries, and how the hell was going to go to the desk and say by the way, I need a book on how to treat women right. Real right?
(He already tried that, and got banned from Teufort's only library for being mistaken for a guy hooker. Again.)
Those Librarians reminded him of nuns with their hair drawn tightly into severe buns and harsh glances. And any kid who ever went to Catholic school knew to fear the nuns.
The problem wasn't that he didn't know what he was doing. He knew what it was like to have quick fucks in the alley, a handjob at halftime, a tryst in the back of a car. It wasn't like he was a virgin, which was really no surprise, because a guy that hot just had ladies chasing after him all the time. Alll the time. But Miss Pauling? She was classy. She probably listened to classical music and read for fun. He saw stuff like Jane Austen and Jane Eyre on her nightstand, and nobody even had to put a gun to her head to read them.
All Scout knew about Austen was it had Mr. Darcy, who was some kind of sex god, according to all his Ma's friends. Scout figured he was some dickwad with a cravat and bulging muscles and a codpiece, whatever the fuck that was.
She was just so much more than his project rat dropout life had ever done. So he had to up his game. It wasn't just making sure she came, he'd have to be the best damn fuck of her life, while being gentle enough to not leave bruises. He had to treat her like a friggin' princess and still be dirty enough to make her scream.
The problem was, he didn't know where the line crossed. What the hell did he know about being gentle? His job was beating people's heads in, and he was damn good at it. The best he could do was keep watching old movies and figure out a way somewhere between the bright lights of the screen to treat a girl right.
But here he was, in her apartment on base. This base, anyways. He figured he could make memories for each one, like base bingos. His rooms looked about all the same, just with differing Tom Jones and Baseball wallpapers. Hers were clean, with a lot of purple everywhere, and guns. Seriously, she had guns everywhere. Mounted on the walls, on a gun rack, in the closet, under her bed, under her pillow, in the seat cushion, in the fridge and then some.
The couch was a deep purple with a lighter purple striped vertical pattern which was patched to cover several bullet holes, though less than the one in the common room. She had stocked several thick blankets over the top. The air conditioner around here tended to veer between 'arctic' and breaking down, so there was no barrier from the hundred degrees in the shade badlands weather.
All the blankets, and even the couch were in varying shades of purple. Either the Voice had a real strict color coding plan, or Miss Pauling really did like purple that much.
"Scout? You still there?"
"Oh, yeah I just---was tryin' to remember if I left the oven on."
Miss Pauling looked back with some alarm.
"No, no, I realized I didn't. Just one of those moments where you're like 'oh crap,' you know?"
"Oh yeah," Miss Pauling said. She put on some kind of jazz on an old Victrola. It gave him pause. Did it mean she was putting on the moves, or that she was just classy?
"I hope you don't mind a little background music while I pop some popcorn for the show," she said.
"Nah, I'm good. Gotta love Ella," Scout said.
Mentally, he thanked his Ma's musical choices. Even after Spy's crash course, he still couldn't tell the fuck between a soup spoon, a regular spoon and what the hell that salad fork was all about it, but his music taste fucking rocked.
Today's purple dress really clung to her curves. Two buttons were undone, not enough for actual cleavage, but enough for him to dip into fantasizing without even meaning to. Okay, Scout. You've fought ghosts and wizards. You can manage to cuddle with a cute girl. Technically, you don't even need to do any awesome quips, you'd be distractin' her from the movie.
A really cute girl. In fact, really, really--
Okay, back to thinking something unsexy, like Soldier's cooking. Last time, green smoke and fur--fur had come up in noxious clouds. Even the memory made him nauseous.
His palm deserved an apology, and hell, his dick deserved a frigging with sympathy for your frickin' dead sex life card. He'd be thirty before he touched breasts again, let alone score a home run, but he wasn't risking it. He was going to woo her right, blue balls be damned.
Scout laid out on the couch, with one hand sexily propping up his neck. His mind raced with thoughts. Was the whole come hither, super sexy lay too cliché? Sure, it was an old stand-by, but when it came to her, he had to completely revamp the game. She returned just as he had started to move.
"Popcorn's ready," she said.
Scout had to stifle a gasp as she sat on the couch. Right next to him. Bodily warmth, and Miss-friggin'-Pauling was cuddling with him. Holy shit. Scout had tried to psyche himself, with a lot of pre-game motivation, and talks to the mirror, but nothing prepared him for it actually happening. In her attempt to shift on the couch close to him, she ended up rubbing her ass right over his groin. For a second, Scout just completely blanked out. He half was surprised that he wasn't sent to respawn right then and there. Play of the game: that ass
"Scout? You okay? You look kind of broken."
She waved her hand in front of his eyes.
"Beep boop, still friggin' here."
She laughed. Sometimes he had to just stop and appreciate how great it was to see her laughing and smiling. Just turn in all his Tom Jones albums, Miss Pauling's laugh could be the soundtrack of his life.
"This popcorn is great, you should have some. Oh, this movie looks good. Engineer says it's hilarious."
The title screen flickered. Green Men From Planet Vulnar It didn't look like a comedy, but who knew, with hardhat?
Scout's eyes widened as she laid down on the couch right next to him. All systems down, errors, self control flying out the window. His fingers longed to rest on her hip, then slip up that skirt and make her forget that movie, and her own name by the time he was knuckle deep in her. Not yet, he reminded himself. She was a class act, and he was damn well going to romance her well first.
Then he could make her scream for hours.
She munched on popcorn, and rested her head against him. She was completely unaware, as she watched the show and nibbled away the way his heart hammered in his chest, like he'd just sprinted twenty miles in the heat. He could feel every sweet curve of her, until he couldn't have paid attention to anything else, even if it was the Sox winning the pennant.
His loose pants weren't going to cut it at this range. No, he had to take drastic measures. He forced himself to relive nineteen sixty-one and nineteen sixty-two, where the Yankees won the world series and ruined two seasons. Each agonizing moment of watching the team he hated most beat his beloved team into defeat.
She shifted again, grinding right across his half-hard dick and not even the damn Yankees could save him this time. Scout let out a low groan in the back of his throat. An explosion happened on screen, and in his head, though thankfully not in his pants. He about leap up off that couch, and pushed himself out of sight. Mentally he tried to get past his situation. Could he fit an cold shower in? Maybe stick his dick in the freezer somehow before she noticed? She wanted to cuddle, which was something he'd been wanting for years, but this was going directly into heavy makeout territory, and he'd slated that for at least date three.
Considering the way there were going, he estimated date three would happen about 1990.
"Yeah, you need a drink or something? While I'm in the kitchen, I can get you all kinds of stuff. From the kitchen, I mean. And if you're out of anythin', I could go get that, too. Late night stops or somethin', because I am the best boyfriend around. Super sensitive and crap, but tough and handsome, too!"
"Leaving so soon?" she said.
Yeah, I'm going to jump into the nearest frozen lake
"No, I'm just...stretching my legs, and gettin' a drink--" Scout said.
"I thought you liked this movie," she said.
"Oh yeah, I love it. I just....my throat is parched and..."
During his crash course with Spy, he kind of got the impression between all the literal crashing that he wasn't supposed to tell her that her ass was so fine, that he needed to show her physically how great her body was, preferably with his dick. Or at least, that should probably come around the third, maybe fourth date. Given her schedule, getting to four dates would probably take between forty to four hundred years. And even then, Scout was still shaky on what actually qualified as a date. Did him driving the getaway car count as a date, or was it the number of bodies in the trunk?
If he left now, she'd think he'd lost interest. He'd take an awkward boner over trying to explain to her that even if he wasn't sure what qualified as a date between them, he wanted to take her out on dozens of them and then act out every fantasy he'd had about her over the years.
"Honestly, you're the last person I'd think was afraid of making a move," she said.
"What?"
"You heard me," she said. And she smiled in a way that was so knowing, so mischievous that any chance of her being unaware was completely gone. Every shift had been a deliberate move to get him hard, and hell if it hadn't worked.
She patted the couch seat. "Don't tell me you're running away."
"It's just---"
"You're into girls, right? You're into sex, right?"
"What? Hell yeah! I'm really into both of those, but mostly you. I'm into you, " Scout said.
"Good, me too," she said.
But, you're a lady! I gotta do lady stuff for you!"
Miss Pauling's brow creased. "What does that even mean?" she said. "Buying me tampons? Because I just stocked up, and I'm just fine, but if you want to help next month..."
"What? No, I mean I would, if I had to, but---" Scout let out a long breath, and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I wanna give you flowers, and give you the kind of night to remember. I want to break all the cliches and give you a night to remember. Romance stuff, with like, candles and crap Classy stuff, and not just a fuck in the back. I wanna treat you like a queen," he said.
"Oh," she said. "Why didn't you say so before?"
He didn't even have enough time to reply, because she started to take off her dress. And when she took off her dress, his whole mind would just stop for a little while. Technically, that also applied to her drinking coffee, her glasses falling down, talking, or breathing.
"I've been thinking of this since you talked for five hours straight," she said. She leaned down to whisper. Treating me like a queen, you say? Then your face is going to be my throne.
Were there really any sexier words in the whole friggin language? Had she really just flirted back with him, with a line that made his toes curl? And yeah, he wasn't half-hard anymore.
He didn't think he could love her more, but she was good at proving him wrong.
Maybe it was a loss of control, a giant fuck it amid all his hesitation about being right. The thing was, when a guy was going for bases, he couldn't just fucking dawdle around wondering about what to do. You just had to slide in for home. Scout crawled back onto that couch, and put his arm about her. She shifted again, this time to face him. Her lips against his was incredible, like his team winning, like every runner's high and stolen briefcase. Just as that scientist on the television yelled, one of them kissed a little too hard, with teeth―he couldn't tell which―and they went tumbling to the floor. For a second, he felt the shock of pain, and the shock of her breasts flat against his chest.
"Oh, damn. Did you hurt your head?" She said.
"Nah, I'm good."
She let out a sharp gasp.
"Oh, you like that?" Scout said.
"No, my hair is caught--"
She untangled it from the button on the couch.
"Yikes," Scout said. "You okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine. Just a tangle," she said. She smiled slowly. "So, where were we?"
He pushed up her skirts. His thumbs pushed through her pantyhose, and he dragged them down her legs. He had to hand it to Miss Pauling, she sure was fierce. He was plenty awesome, but he was barely keeping up, and at this point he had stopped trying. She ground against him as she kissed, her crotch against his with only a thin barrier of her underwear and his pants.
"I've been wanting this for so long," Scout said huskily.
"Oh god, you got no idea," she said.
"I just--really wanted to take you out on a date," Scout said.
"Watching television counts as a date, even if we only made it past the fifteen minutes mark," she said.
Panties off, shoes off, nothing but skin and her body inches away from him. Scout licked his lips.
She knelt just above his face, and reached up to pull down a throw pillow. "There, I don't want you hurting your head. Just tell me if there's too much weight on you, okay?"
I'd gladly drown in you, Miss Pauling is what he would've said, if he could've said something, but she was pushing down her panties. All he could manage was a thumbs up. She gripped the coffee table and couch to keep her weight off of him. She must've rubbed perfume down her stomach and thighs, because she had a scent of flowers and something citrus-like along with her the natural musk.
Her knees shuddered. He was surrounded in heat, from her trembling thighs, to the slickness against his face. She ground against his tongue, as he eagerly gripped at her hips. He skimmed his tongue over the soft inner folds, already wet with desire, before he slowly teased her clit with his mouth.
Every breath he took in was warm, and smelled of her musk, her skin. From this angle, he couldn't see her moans, the way her face flushed in pleasure, but he could taste her pleasure, throbbing hot against his tongue. Her knees began to tremble more, mixed with moans, and he adored every silky inch of her. He'd never gotten this turned on just going down on a girl, he'd never been a throne before, but it was so fitting.
She pushed herself up, a whimper on her lips as she sat on the couch. She rested her head back, with a gasp of holy shit.
Scout just sat back for a moment, and admired his handiwork. No pun intended. But once she let out a little satisfied sigh, Scout pushed himself up, and kissed her inner thigh.
"Ready for round two?"
"Already?" she gasped.
"You know it."
She opened her legs wider, which was just the yes he needed. He was knuckle deep, and five seconds before he got that amazing gasp out of her. Her clit was still tender from his tongue, and her moans came easily. This time, he got to watch her mouth form into an 'o' as she arched up to meet his thrusts. Her breasts swayed each time she ground her hips against him. She was so warm, and clenched so tight around his fingers, throbbing with every quick, hard push of his hands over her, in her.
The thought of her bouncing on his dick made something deep inside him twitch in desire. He was so close to living his dreams, but not until he gave her a real good time. She tightened around him, until he could feel the white hot heat of her coming around him. Miss Pauling gasping his name was one of the sweetest things he'd ever heard. He wanted to frame this memory, keep it in amber.
"Scout—"
He rested his hands just above her knees. God, she was so wet. He couldn't wait to slip in and feel her come around him all over again.
The phone rang, and for a second they were frozen in surprise. She desperately reached for the portable phone that lay on the end table, only to almost drop it in the process. She caught it, spun mid-air, and finally clicked the button after three rings.
"Miss Pauling here. Oh---Um, Administrator. No, it's not a surprise, I was just--in the shower. I had to run to the phone. You need something? Now? All right, I'll be right there after I dry off."
She hung up without any goodbyes.
Miss Pauling let out a long sigh. "Sorry, I have to do this."
She stepped away, and was anything more sad than her leaving when he had this much of a hard on? God, he just could not catch a break. After years of wanting her, he was this close, only to end up with blue balls again. He'd even been a gentleman and gotten her off twice before he'd even gotten so much as a rub off.
Scout sighed, and rubbed at his temples. "You... need any help?"
"No, it's paperwork things, not burying. Technically it's a destroying paperwork thing. You seeing this would make you a witness, a liability, if you will."
She pulled on her slightly wrinkled dress and quickly did up the belt. Scout leaned against the couch, and began to weigh his options. Cold shower, or ice pack to crotch. Technically, he could just get himself off, but at this point he was so disappointed that it sounded about as appetizing as cold and stale leftovers left in the fridge for a week, after missing a chance for pizza.
Except the pizza was a girl, a really hot girl. Maybe the metaphor would be better if he made the pizza be eaten off a hot girl.
Miss Pauling pulled on her shoes, and strapped in a holster about her bare thigh.
"Think of me, okay? I'll pay you back next time. Actually, here's something to keep you company."
She tossed her lacy purple panties his way. Holy Batman, talk about a dream come true. His disappointment turned back to full on desire.
"I'll owe you one. And if you're still around when I come back..." She let that trail off, leaving it to his imagination, which somehow made it much sexier.
"Trust me, I'll be waitin'," Scout said.
"I'm glad. Don't wear yourself out with that solo time, okay? We've still got a lot to do together. A lot for you to...show me." She bent down for a kiss, that lasted not nearly long enough for his taste. But he'd prefer her lips be on his for roughly the next five hours, until they both fell apart, parched and exhausted.
"See you soon. Hopefully soon? Soonish?"
"I'll pay you back, double. And.. I really hope so. I'll burn through this paperwork as fast as I can," she called back.
He watched her go with a whole new sense of awe as his fist curled about her lacy panties.
Apparently, ladies could be damn dirty, and for that, he was sure as hell glad. He would never make it if being with a lady meant he had to fuck with one pinkie out while wearing a top hat. Yeah, she was a class act, a shooting star of a girl. But she also had ridden his face and moaned hard enough to make him feel like he could come just off her pleasure alone.
And frankly? He couldn't wait to see her again, and show her every dirty thing he'd dreamed of doing, and then buy her flowers or something. Maybe he could even combine them, fucking on flowers, that would be real romantic.
Scout smiled, and gave himself a high-five. Oh yeah, he was hitting it out of the park, when it came to mixing fucking and romance.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3790
Summary: Scout is used to one-night stands and hook ups. He runs into some difficulty actually figuring out how to get the "dating" and "romance" part just right.
Author's note: There's a couple posts like this and this that never fail to amuse me on the subject of spooning.
Buck Turner is mentioned on one of Scout's items. In lore, he's a legendary runner who was was famous for sleeping with other men's wives.
Kink bingo: facesitting/queening.
Miss Pauling was on the couch, and Scout had gone full brain freeze. He didn't have a damn clue what to do.
If Buck Turner was here, he'd punch Scout right in the face for choking and letting down the legacy, from all those other legendary runners who also happened to be legendary lovers. And frankly, Scout would welcome someone slapping some sense into him. Spy hadn't given him enough hard knocks to actually figure out what the hell to do. The asshole didn't even leave him a complimentary manual between the dinner mints and the thrown salad fork that narrowly missed maiming him.
Scout had read dozens of books on this, but like that exam day blank, he couldn't think of a single solution.
If she was some girl he picked up at a chicken joint, there would be no question. Hands on the titties, remember to go down on her because like hell he was getting the nickname minuteman, and he'd be back in time to hit the beer joint for a nightcap. Her name would already on the way out, because face it, he wasn't seeing her again.
But every time she looked at him, glasses slid down her nose, and bright green eyes full of warmth, he just lost it. Sure, he was a catch and a half, handsome as hell, charming and rich to boot, but he knew from the moment he saw her that he had to up his game. Miss Pauling was worth so much more than pick up lines and stupid cliches.
Scout had been trying to figure out this one little problem, but he didn't have a frigging clue who to go to. After the last trip with Spy, he wasn't about to go to that bastard again. He was no good at libraries, and how the hell was going to go to the desk and say by the way, I need a book on how to treat women right. Real right?
(He already tried that, and got banned from Teufort's only library for being mistaken for a guy hooker. Again.)
Those Librarians reminded him of nuns with their hair drawn tightly into severe buns and harsh glances. And any kid who ever went to Catholic school knew to fear the nuns.
The problem wasn't that he didn't know what he was doing. He knew what it was like to have quick fucks in the alley, a handjob at halftime, a tryst in the back of a car. It wasn't like he was a virgin, which was really no surprise, because a guy that hot just had ladies chasing after him all the time. Alll the time. But Miss Pauling? She was classy. She probably listened to classical music and read for fun. He saw stuff like Jane Austen and Jane Eyre on her nightstand, and nobody even had to put a gun to her head to read them.
All Scout knew about Austen was it had Mr. Darcy, who was some kind of sex god, according to all his Ma's friends. Scout figured he was some dickwad with a cravat and bulging muscles and a codpiece, whatever the fuck that was.
She was just so much more than his project rat dropout life had ever done. So he had to up his game. It wasn't just making sure she came, he'd have to be the best damn fuck of her life, while being gentle enough to not leave bruises. He had to treat her like a friggin' princess and still be dirty enough to make her scream.
The problem was, he didn't know where the line crossed. What the hell did he know about being gentle? His job was beating people's heads in, and he was damn good at it. The best he could do was keep watching old movies and figure out a way somewhere between the bright lights of the screen to treat a girl right.
But here he was, in her apartment on base. This base, anyways. He figured he could make memories for each one, like base bingos. His rooms looked about all the same, just with differing Tom Jones and Baseball wallpapers. Hers were clean, with a lot of purple everywhere, and guns. Seriously, she had guns everywhere. Mounted on the walls, on a gun rack, in the closet, under her bed, under her pillow, in the seat cushion, in the fridge and then some.
The couch was a deep purple with a lighter purple striped vertical pattern which was patched to cover several bullet holes, though less than the one in the common room. She had stocked several thick blankets over the top. The air conditioner around here tended to veer between 'arctic' and breaking down, so there was no barrier from the hundred degrees in the shade badlands weather.
All the blankets, and even the couch were in varying shades of purple. Either the Voice had a real strict color coding plan, or Miss Pauling really did like purple that much.
"Scout? You still there?"
"Oh, yeah I just---was tryin' to remember if I left the oven on."
Miss Pauling looked back with some alarm.
"No, no, I realized I didn't. Just one of those moments where you're like 'oh crap,' you know?"
"Oh yeah," Miss Pauling said. She put on some kind of jazz on an old Victrola. It gave him pause. Did it mean she was putting on the moves, or that she was just classy?
"I hope you don't mind a little background music while I pop some popcorn for the show," she said.
"Nah, I'm good. Gotta love Ella," Scout said.
Mentally, he thanked his Ma's musical choices. Even after Spy's crash course, he still couldn't tell the fuck between a soup spoon, a regular spoon and what the hell that salad fork was all about it, but his music taste fucking rocked.
Today's purple dress really clung to her curves. Two buttons were undone, not enough for actual cleavage, but enough for him to dip into fantasizing without even meaning to. Okay, Scout. You've fought ghosts and wizards. You can manage to cuddle with a cute girl. Technically, you don't even need to do any awesome quips, you'd be distractin' her from the movie.
A really cute girl. In fact, really, really--
Okay, back to thinking something unsexy, like Soldier's cooking. Last time, green smoke and fur--fur had come up in noxious clouds. Even the memory made him nauseous.
His palm deserved an apology, and hell, his dick deserved a frigging with sympathy for your frickin' dead sex life card. He'd be thirty before he touched breasts again, let alone score a home run, but he wasn't risking it. He was going to woo her right, blue balls be damned.
Scout laid out on the couch, with one hand sexily propping up his neck. His mind raced with thoughts. Was the whole come hither, super sexy lay too cliché? Sure, it was an old stand-by, but when it came to her, he had to completely revamp the game. She returned just as he had started to move.
"Popcorn's ready," she said.
Scout had to stifle a gasp as she sat on the couch. Right next to him. Bodily warmth, and Miss-friggin'-Pauling was cuddling with him. Holy shit. Scout had tried to psyche himself, with a lot of pre-game motivation, and talks to the mirror, but nothing prepared him for it actually happening. In her attempt to shift on the couch close to him, she ended up rubbing her ass right over his groin. For a second, Scout just completely blanked out. He half was surprised that he wasn't sent to respawn right then and there. Play of the game: that ass
"Scout? You okay? You look kind of broken."
She waved her hand in front of his eyes.
"Beep boop, still friggin' here."
She laughed. Sometimes he had to just stop and appreciate how great it was to see her laughing and smiling. Just turn in all his Tom Jones albums, Miss Pauling's laugh could be the soundtrack of his life.
"This popcorn is great, you should have some. Oh, this movie looks good. Engineer says it's hilarious."
The title screen flickered. Green Men From Planet Vulnar It didn't look like a comedy, but who knew, with hardhat?
Scout's eyes widened as she laid down on the couch right next to him. All systems down, errors, self control flying out the window. His fingers longed to rest on her hip, then slip up that skirt and make her forget that movie, and her own name by the time he was knuckle deep in her. Not yet, he reminded himself. She was a class act, and he was damn well going to romance her well first.
Then he could make her scream for hours.
She munched on popcorn, and rested her head against him. She was completely unaware, as she watched the show and nibbled away the way his heart hammered in his chest, like he'd just sprinted twenty miles in the heat. He could feel every sweet curve of her, until he couldn't have paid attention to anything else, even if it was the Sox winning the pennant.
His loose pants weren't going to cut it at this range. No, he had to take drastic measures. He forced himself to relive nineteen sixty-one and nineteen sixty-two, where the Yankees won the world series and ruined two seasons. Each agonizing moment of watching the team he hated most beat his beloved team into defeat.
She shifted again, grinding right across his half-hard dick and not even the damn Yankees could save him this time. Scout let out a low groan in the back of his throat. An explosion happened on screen, and in his head, though thankfully not in his pants. He about leap up off that couch, and pushed himself out of sight. Mentally he tried to get past his situation. Could he fit an cold shower in? Maybe stick his dick in the freezer somehow before she noticed? She wanted to cuddle, which was something he'd been wanting for years, but this was going directly into heavy makeout territory, and he'd slated that for at least date three.
Considering the way there were going, he estimated date three would happen about 1990.
"Yeah, you need a drink or something? While I'm in the kitchen, I can get you all kinds of stuff. From the kitchen, I mean. And if you're out of anythin', I could go get that, too. Late night stops or somethin', because I am the best boyfriend around. Super sensitive and crap, but tough and handsome, too!"
"Leaving so soon?" she said.
Yeah, I'm going to jump into the nearest frozen lake
"No, I'm just...stretching my legs, and gettin' a drink--" Scout said.
"I thought you liked this movie," she said.
"Oh yeah, I love it. I just....my throat is parched and..."
During his crash course with Spy, he kind of got the impression between all the literal crashing that he wasn't supposed to tell her that her ass was so fine, that he needed to show her physically how great her body was, preferably with his dick. Or at least, that should probably come around the third, maybe fourth date. Given her schedule, getting to four dates would probably take between forty to four hundred years. And even then, Scout was still shaky on what actually qualified as a date. Did him driving the getaway car count as a date, or was it the number of bodies in the trunk?
If he left now, she'd think he'd lost interest. He'd take an awkward boner over trying to explain to her that even if he wasn't sure what qualified as a date between them, he wanted to take her out on dozens of them and then act out every fantasy he'd had about her over the years.
"Honestly, you're the last person I'd think was afraid of making a move," she said.
"What?"
"You heard me," she said. And she smiled in a way that was so knowing, so mischievous that any chance of her being unaware was completely gone. Every shift had been a deliberate move to get him hard, and hell if it hadn't worked.
She patted the couch seat. "Don't tell me you're running away."
"It's just---"
"You're into girls, right? You're into sex, right?"
"What? Hell yeah! I'm really into both of those, but mostly you. I'm into you, " Scout said.
"Good, me too," she said.
But, you're a lady! I gotta do lady stuff for you!"
Miss Pauling's brow creased. "What does that even mean?" she said. "Buying me tampons? Because I just stocked up, and I'm just fine, but if you want to help next month..."
"What? No, I mean I would, if I had to, but---" Scout let out a long breath, and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I wanna give you flowers, and give you the kind of night to remember. I want to break all the cliches and give you a night to remember. Romance stuff, with like, candles and crap Classy stuff, and not just a fuck in the back. I wanna treat you like a queen," he said.
"Oh," she said. "Why didn't you say so before?"
He didn't even have enough time to reply, because she started to take off her dress. And when she took off her dress, his whole mind would just stop for a little while. Technically, that also applied to her drinking coffee, her glasses falling down, talking, or breathing.
"I've been thinking of this since you talked for five hours straight," she said. She leaned down to whisper. Treating me like a queen, you say? Then your face is going to be my throne.
Were there really any sexier words in the whole friggin language? Had she really just flirted back with him, with a line that made his toes curl? And yeah, he wasn't half-hard anymore.
He didn't think he could love her more, but she was good at proving him wrong.
Maybe it was a loss of control, a giant fuck it amid all his hesitation about being right. The thing was, when a guy was going for bases, he couldn't just fucking dawdle around wondering about what to do. You just had to slide in for home. Scout crawled back onto that couch, and put his arm about her. She shifted again, this time to face him. Her lips against his was incredible, like his team winning, like every runner's high and stolen briefcase. Just as that scientist on the television yelled, one of them kissed a little too hard, with teeth―he couldn't tell which―and they went tumbling to the floor. For a second, he felt the shock of pain, and the shock of her breasts flat against his chest.
"Oh, damn. Did you hurt your head?" She said.
"Nah, I'm good."
She let out a sharp gasp.
"Oh, you like that?" Scout said.
"No, my hair is caught--"
She untangled it from the button on the couch.
"Yikes," Scout said. "You okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine. Just a tangle," she said. She smiled slowly. "So, where were we?"
He pushed up her skirts. His thumbs pushed through her pantyhose, and he dragged them down her legs. He had to hand it to Miss Pauling, she sure was fierce. He was plenty awesome, but he was barely keeping up, and at this point he had stopped trying. She ground against him as she kissed, her crotch against his with only a thin barrier of her underwear and his pants.
"I've been wanting this for so long," Scout said huskily.
"Oh god, you got no idea," she said.
"I just--really wanted to take you out on a date," Scout said.
"Watching television counts as a date, even if we only made it past the fifteen minutes mark," she said.
Panties off, shoes off, nothing but skin and her body inches away from him. Scout licked his lips.
She knelt just above his face, and reached up to pull down a throw pillow. "There, I don't want you hurting your head. Just tell me if there's too much weight on you, okay?"
I'd gladly drown in you, Miss Pauling is what he would've said, if he could've said something, but she was pushing down her panties. All he could manage was a thumbs up. She gripped the coffee table and couch to keep her weight off of him. She must've rubbed perfume down her stomach and thighs, because she had a scent of flowers and something citrus-like along with her the natural musk.
Her knees shuddered. He was surrounded in heat, from her trembling thighs, to the slickness against his face. She ground against his tongue, as he eagerly gripped at her hips. He skimmed his tongue over the soft inner folds, already wet with desire, before he slowly teased her clit with his mouth.
Every breath he took in was warm, and smelled of her musk, her skin. From this angle, he couldn't see her moans, the way her face flushed in pleasure, but he could taste her pleasure, throbbing hot against his tongue. Her knees began to tremble more, mixed with moans, and he adored every silky inch of her. He'd never gotten this turned on just going down on a girl, he'd never been a throne before, but it was so fitting.
She pushed herself up, a whimper on her lips as she sat on the couch. She rested her head back, with a gasp of holy shit.
Scout just sat back for a moment, and admired his handiwork. No pun intended. But once she let out a little satisfied sigh, Scout pushed himself up, and kissed her inner thigh.
"Ready for round two?"
"Already?" she gasped.
"You know it."
She opened her legs wider, which was just the yes he needed. He was knuckle deep, and five seconds before he got that amazing gasp out of her. Her clit was still tender from his tongue, and her moans came easily. This time, he got to watch her mouth form into an 'o' as she arched up to meet his thrusts. Her breasts swayed each time she ground her hips against him. She was so warm, and clenched so tight around his fingers, throbbing with every quick, hard push of his hands over her, in her.
The thought of her bouncing on his dick made something deep inside him twitch in desire. He was so close to living his dreams, but not until he gave her a real good time. She tightened around him, until he could feel the white hot heat of her coming around him. Miss Pauling gasping his name was one of the sweetest things he'd ever heard. He wanted to frame this memory, keep it in amber.
"Scout—"
He rested his hands just above her knees. God, she was so wet. He couldn't wait to slip in and feel her come around him all over again.
The phone rang, and for a second they were frozen in surprise. She desperately reached for the portable phone that lay on the end table, only to almost drop it in the process. She caught it, spun mid-air, and finally clicked the button after three rings.
"Miss Pauling here. Oh---Um, Administrator. No, it's not a surprise, I was just--in the shower. I had to run to the phone. You need something? Now? All right, I'll be right there after I dry off."
She hung up without any goodbyes.
Miss Pauling let out a long sigh. "Sorry, I have to do this."
She stepped away, and was anything more sad than her leaving when he had this much of a hard on? God, he just could not catch a break. After years of wanting her, he was this close, only to end up with blue balls again. He'd even been a gentleman and gotten her off twice before he'd even gotten so much as a rub off.
Scout sighed, and rubbed at his temples. "You... need any help?"
"No, it's paperwork things, not burying. Technically it's a destroying paperwork thing. You seeing this would make you a witness, a liability, if you will."
She pulled on her slightly wrinkled dress and quickly did up the belt. Scout leaned against the couch, and began to weigh his options. Cold shower, or ice pack to crotch. Technically, he could just get himself off, but at this point he was so disappointed that it sounded about as appetizing as cold and stale leftovers left in the fridge for a week, after missing a chance for pizza.
Except the pizza was a girl, a really hot girl. Maybe the metaphor would be better if he made the pizza be eaten off a hot girl.
Miss Pauling pulled on her shoes, and strapped in a holster about her bare thigh.
"Think of me, okay? I'll pay you back next time. Actually, here's something to keep you company."
She tossed her lacy purple panties his way. Holy Batman, talk about a dream come true. His disappointment turned back to full on desire.
"I'll owe you one. And if you're still around when I come back..." She let that trail off, leaving it to his imagination, which somehow made it much sexier.
"Trust me, I'll be waitin'," Scout said.
"I'm glad. Don't wear yourself out with that solo time, okay? We've still got a lot to do together. A lot for you to...show me." She bent down for a kiss, that lasted not nearly long enough for his taste. But he'd prefer her lips be on his for roughly the next five hours, until they both fell apart, parched and exhausted.
"See you soon. Hopefully soon? Soonish?"
"I'll pay you back, double. And.. I really hope so. I'll burn through this paperwork as fast as I can," she called back.
He watched her go with a whole new sense of awe as his fist curled about her lacy panties.
Apparently, ladies could be damn dirty, and for that, he was sure as hell glad. He would never make it if being with a lady meant he had to fuck with one pinkie out while wearing a top hat. Yeah, she was a class act, a shooting star of a girl. But she also had ridden his face and moaned hard enough to make him feel like he could come just off her pleasure alone.
And frankly? He couldn't wait to see her again, and show her every dirty thing he'd dreamed of doing, and then buy her flowers or something. Maybe he could even combine them, fucking on flowers, that would be real romantic.
Scout smiled, and gave himself a high-five. Oh yeah, he was hitting it out of the park, when it came to mixing fucking and romance.
