Hey, all! Here's something short and sexy that wrote itself by accident while I should have been finishing part III of Moving Day. That chapter is about halfway done and should be ready by the end of the week. Sorry for the delay! For now, enjoy this— it is a bit smutty, so be forewarned if that isn't your thing.
Set at some indeterminate time after season 3, with the inference of an established Walt/Vic relationship. ;D
The first time Vic tells him to fuck her harder, in that breathless keening voice that is more than halfway to being a moan, Walt almost loses it like a gangly teenager who just made it into the back seat for the very first time with the prettiest girl in school.
It's already frantic and heated and they haven't even managed to get out of all their clothes which, at least in Walt's slightly weathered but inherently honorable old-fashioned opinion, is non-traditional at best and at worst has his skin flushing with embarrassed arousal from his chest all the way up to his forehead. His shirt is only halfway off and he's absolutely certain that both of them are still wearing at least one boot. Her lacy bra has stayed stubbornly fastened, pushing things upward in a way that most definitely draws the eye as her body rocks in time with his thrusts.
He's already so overstimulated that for a moment he thinks that if he gives her what she wants, if he— his brain scrambles around the words— fucks her harder, he might ruin the intended effect by also giving himself a heart attack in the bargain.
Those words, burning hot against the shell of his ear, are accompanied by the grasping of a determined hand which has snaked its way to the flesh of his left buttock to encourage him even deeper. Her grip is deceptively strong, as it always is, and he absently wonders if she'll leave finger-shaped bruises like a sign of ownership on his posterior.
Walt was raised to think of women as delicate creatures, to be protected and gently cherished. His late wife may have had some hidden steel in her spine, but she saved that for her social causes and the occasional barnburner of an argument. Their intimate life had been loving; occasionally inventive and often filled with sultry laughter. On the other hand, he and Martha had never shared this raw unquenchable skin hunger that he feels with his deputy.
Vic is a walking contradiction at times, which often leaves Walt at something of a loss. She's soft and hard, tough but vulnerable, safeguarding others with the bravery of a lion even while desperately needing a measure of protection herself. This duality appeared to translate into the bedroom as well; she is all soft eyes and pink lips and golden hair fanned out on his pillow, the very picture of sensual compliance. And yet? She can dominate him with one word, one touch, one shift of a limb to trap his body in her embrace.
He moves his hips in a tighter circle, bearing down, putting more of his weight into it. In response she whimpers with a harsh indrawn breath and arches her back off the bed, clinging to him.
Characteristically, Walt worries. "I don't wanna hurt you."
"You won't. Just—" She pauses, breath ghosting against his collarbone. "— don't stop. Please—"
Following instructions, he carries on, nearly possessed with the sensation of Vic writhing beneath him and pressing up to meet and enhance his thrusts. At some point the fingers of one of her hands have wound into his, both of them breathing heavily as he continues to pin their joined hands to the mattress.
Soon Vic is crying out with these high pitched inarticulate wails that drive him crazy, and Walt groans with his lips against the corner of her mouth. Then they're grinding against each other hell-for-leather, skin burning hot at all points of contact. He can feel her start to flutter and tighten around him, almost like her body wants to draw him in and keep him there, and the slick heat and pressure are so much that he knows both of them are about to—
"Ohhh, fuck. Fuck, Walt!"
The sound of her voice shouting his name as she comes causes nothing short of a Pavlovian reaction, and he joins her a few scant seconds later. Walt makes a wordless noise, somewhere between a moan and a grunt, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of sensation as he buries his face in the side of Vic's neck and rides it out.
She's still pulsing against him, holding him to her with her legs— one with her jeans and underpants still caught around the top of her boot— wrapped around his waist and one of her hands gripped into his hair. She makes a pleased "Mmm" sound as he rocks against her a few slow times, still planted deep inside, and Walt knows she must be feeling the aftershocks just like he is.
At long last he collapses, limbs feeling boneless and a bit wild. He tries to move aside to avoid crushing her, but she's having none of it. His lips are by her shoulder and she's stroking the hair at the nape of his neck as they allow their breathing to calm. After a few floating minutes he regains enough strength to slide an arm under her back and roll them, so that he can lay on his back and hold her.
Vic smiles against his chest as she settles into the embrace. "If you wanted me to be on top you only had to ask."
"Maybe next time." He laughs, still a bit euphoric in the wake of orgasm, running his fingers up and down her spine.
She peers up at him, eyes lidded and sensual. "If there's gonna be a 'next time' tonight, maybe we should take our boots off?" Biting her lip, she slides upward to kiss him softly. The lace of her bra provides a stimulating drag against the hair on his chest. "Unless you cowboys have some sort of rule about not riding without appropriate footwear…"
Walt runs a thumb over her lips, still close to his own, and kisses her again. It gets a bit more involved this time, her tongue winding its way into his mouth to explore. He can feel himself already starting to harden once more, although he's smart enough to know that it will be a while yet before he's ready for round two.
"Keep up with the dirty talk and I'll be so worn out, you might just have to be on top every time."
"You're always giving me the hard jobs." She tangles her legs with his, rubbing against him.
"Only because I know you'll get 'em done." He smirks, looking her right in the eye.
Vic's blonde hair falls in waves around her face, tickling his neck. Their lips brush together as she speaks. "Yeah? And what makes you think I'm done with this one?" Her hand travels downward, squeezing and stroking in a very enticing way, and Walt starts to think maybe he's a bit more ready than he thought.
Pressing into her hand, he takes a long breath. One of his hands finds the clasp of her bra and finally gets it unfastened. He releases an inquisitive "Hmm," forehead leaning against her temple.
"Why don't you show me what you've got so far and we can go from there?"
She smiles, somehow looking both devious and delighted, and Walt knows that when it comes to the battlefield of pillow talk Vic's got him dead to rights.
There ya go! Short but sweet and no semblance of a plot whatsoever. Haha! Still, it was fun to write. Would love to hear your comments if you enjoyed it! :D