It occurs to me that I might be getting to heavy for him, but I'm not moving until he complains. Despite being sticky with Wilson's come, I'm perfectly comfortable exactly where I am. Except for one little thing.
"Wilson?" I murmur.
I try to think of a time I've ever heard this much contentment in his voice. I don't think I have. He's facing the ceiling and my face is in his shoulder, so he can't see my quick smile before I speak again. "This wedding is missing something."
He turns his head, trying to catch my eye, and I lift my head from his shoulder to oblige him. "Cake," I explain.
Wilson laughs and strokes my hair affectionately. Then he kisses me. "I think there's a room service menu on the dresser. I'm sure they have cake."
"You mean you're gonna make me get up?" I whine.
He chuckles. "Well I certainly can't get up unless you do. And we can't order room service without calling them."
I grumble wordlessly, not actually mad of course, and get up. I find a towel on the floor and wipe myself off before grabbing my cane and making my way over to the dresser for the room service menu. There's no point in pulling any of my clothes back on; if I have my way they're just gonna come off again within the next hour anyway.
Wilson also gets up, but pleases me by following my example of remaining in the nude. He puts the crap that fell out of his suitcase back into it and pushes it out of the way before going into the bathroom to clean himself up.
I stare blatantly at him as he returns to the bed. His cheeks redden a little, but he doesn't look away. He joins me and I return my attention to the menu. We order dinner and dessert, and while we wait I open the champagne bottle I ordered ahead of time. The plan was to have it right after our little ceremony, but obviously we were a bit distracted.
And we get distracted again within five minutes of opening the champagne. Wilson toasts us, and despite the clichéness of it I agree, and we both down our glasses faster than champagne is meant to be drunk. Then Wilson kisses me, so so much for any other activity.
It doesn't progress to sex this time, probably because neither of us wants a knock on the door with a call of "room service!" when we're on the cusp of orgasm, but either that kitchen cooks fast or time flies when you're making out.
Wilson jumps when the food arrives, resulting in his nose banging against my jaw, and I laugh. I dare him to answer the door naked; he grins at me and wraps the blanket around himself. He's nuts if he thinks that counts, but within five minutes we're eating, and food takes precedence over nudity bets.
It is quite something to eat a full meal in bed. With House. Naked. He jokes that this way I won't stain my clothes if I spill anything. And when I do accidentally get some sauce on my chest, my reaching for my napkin is in vain because House simply licks it off me.
After dinner, of course, is the cake. House ordered chocolate fudge and I ordered vanilla hazelnut. He asks if I want to try a bite of his, and when I agree he grabs a chunk with his fingers and stuffs it in my face. Then he laughs while I nearly choke to death. But it is pretty good cake, and I get my revenge by shoving a piece of my cake in his face when he's not looking.
"Hey!" House protests through the mouthful. He swallows. "That was not what I had in mind for tasting the cake you got."
"Oh?" I say in a mock-concerned voice, turning back to my plate.
I don't get to finish my cake because House proceeds to show me what he did have in mind for tasting it. It involves shoving his tongue into my mouth. I don't complain because I get to taste his chocolate cake again.
It's better this time around.
House takes control, kissing me and kissing me. He moves his lips to get to every part of my face, then down my neck and across my clavicle and chest. I murmur wordlessly at the contact, leaning down on the bed and relaxing, moving a few plates and a fork onto the nightstand and out of my way.
He rests his body over mine, and I stroke his arm and neck, staring at him as he mouths me, now nearing my belly-button. I have a feeling I know where he's going with this and shudder at the thought. All the blood in my body rushes toward the area I suspect House's mouth is heading and I close my eyes in anticipation.
I'm not disappointed.
After House kisses his way down my stomach to my pelvis, his mouth closes over the tip of my penis, which he proceeds to suckle.
"Oh, god," I whisper. It's so warm and wet and...gentle for now, but definitely enough pressure to keep me interested.
His tongue comes out of his mouth, flicking against me, light and teasing. My breath catches in my throat. I stroke his hair, staring at him stimulate me. I think about doing this to him later, making him feel this...god I want to make him feel this!
I dribble some pre-come into House's mouth involuntarily and he pauses, chuckling. "Excited, are we?" he asks, and he kisses me. My musing that at least I don't taste that bad only lasts about a nanosecond. When House is kissing me thinking about anything else becomes impossible. I'm thinking about his mouth, what it's doing to my mouth, what it did to my dick a minute ago...
Maybe he was reading my mind, because he pulls away, staring into my eyes. "Mmm, gotta stop this," he says. "Got better things to do with my mouth." He grins at me and then returns to demonstrating said better things. All of which seem to involve teasing, touching me just enough to get a reaction but not enough to bring me close to coming. I wonder if he's seeing how long he can make me last.
Whatever he's planning on, he's good at it. I lie against the bed and let the feelings take over me. I fantasize about doing this to him in a little while and it turns me on as much as anything. Whispering his name, stroking his hair, holding his hand, I get lost and I don't think I ever want to be found. If this is being in love then I wasted my life, but I can't mourn for the lost years because I see so many ahead of me. So many years of this. And not just the sex part of the this, as...well, I don't think I can find an adjective strong enough to describe it...but that's only one part of it. It's the intimacy. He isn't touching me this way because he wants me to get him off later. He's touching me this way because he wants to be intimate with me, to make me feel these things, be with me when I feel them, be the one causing me to feel them. And I want him to be the one, and the only one. I don't want to share this with anyone but him. And I would add "ever again" to that, but I can't because it's never been this with anyone but him. I've slept with people I cared with but what we had was never this. It never could be.
I've always wondered if I could do that to Wilson. If I could make him go nuts, lose all control, lower his guard and inhibitions completely. I think he did. I don't think it gets better than this. I think he lost it completely, and I love it.
I kiss him. And I know he wants to do the same thing to me, and I'll let him. I will let myself lose control for him. I vowed to give myself to him completely and I will.
It's easier than I thought it would be.
The man's a natural. I stare at him as he touches me, as he pleasures me, and it's easy to let myself go. I've been waiting to for so long, I've been wanting to for so long. With him.
He kisses my body, touching his lips to me everywhere. He tells me that he loves me and shows it in this way...he takes something that can be so impersonal and makes it intimate.
This is what I wanted.
Sex is sex is sex, but it's not the same!
I can't count the number of women and, very very occasionally, men I've paid to do this to me. Same arousal, same motions, but yet...I haven't anything like this since Stacy. And even then...
It would be a lie to say I love Wilson more than I once loved Stacy, but what I have with him is so different. I appreciated her while I had her, but I never had to wait for her. With Wilson, I've wanted it, anticipated it...probably longer than I'm even aware of. I don't even know how long I've been in love with him.
And in a way it makes it more intimate. I loved Stacy, but we rushed into a relationship, just suddenly together. With Wilson, we've had years for it to build. It did, it has. Twenty years all leading up to this, to him touching me, not because he's paid to or because he wants the feeling of release, but because he loves me and wants to show me.
I feel it build in me. I stare at him, touching him back. It just gets better and better, more and more intense.
After we finish making love again I go into the bathroom and draw a bath. When I booked the room, I made sure it had an extra-large tub with a Jacuzzi. Big enough for two. When the tub is full of steaming water, we both get in, relaxing and talking. We finish the champagne and get better acquainted with each other's bodies.
When I get out, he stares at me while I towel off and put on my sleep pants and an undershirt. I don't mind. When he gets out and puts clothes back on for the first time since after our ceremony, I stare at him, too.
It isn't late enough to sleep yet, really, so we get in bed and I let House choose a a movie from the wide pay-per-view collection. He lets me lean against his body, resting my head on his chest. I wonder if he secretly likes it as much as I do, and decide to pretend he does.
I know Wilson's not really watching the movie, and I'm not either. It's not really late yet, and there's a million other things we could be doing in this city, but we have all week. Tonight is just about us.
He starts to fall asleep on me about a half hour into the movie, and I'm guessing the three rounds of sex probably had something to do with it. I'm tired, too, though I could probably go for another round if we wanted. I decide to make four our goal for tomorrow.
I turn the TV off, and Wilson jerks awake at the sound. He looks at me, confused. "What? Is the movie over?"
"Yeah," I lie, and kiss him.
"Hmm," he murmurs when we pull back. He smiles at me and runs a couple fingers through my hair before settling back down against me. His hand rubs circles on my side, sensual, but it quickly stills and within minutes he's asleep.
I watch him for a minute. After I'm sure he's out, I stroke his hair for a second. It is kind of surreal. I settle down in the bed, getting comfortable enough to fall asleep myself.
Before I close my eyes, I hold my left hand in front of my face.
The moonlight streaming through the window reflects off the thin band around my finger.