Gold
by SinCrusader

Author’s Note: This is based as closely on a true story as I could get it, in fact it’s almost all true, but there were some bits I couldn’t remember completely and those aren’t necessarily true. But most of it is, in fact, entirely true. So yeah. There aren’t any disclaimers because this is an original work. The two characters remain nameless for their protection. Do not ask me who they are, I won’t tell you. Any other questions you have may be addressed to ZEKKR@aol.com and will be answered to the best of my ability.

WARNING: This is, in fact, a lemon of the lesbian variety. It has no real plot, it’s just something I wanted to write out. If this bothers you in any way, that’s completely fine just do not read it and then later flame me. If you want to read it and it bothers you but you’re on some quest for enlightenment or to become more open to the world, then I respect you, but nevertheless do not flame me, please. Flames will be either ignored or laughed at. I should probably tell you not to read this if you’re under 18 but who really listens to that anyway? Just ask your parents first or be really sneaky about it. Little SinCrusader’s in training... Anyway, comments, questions, and constructive criticisms will be valued as the treasures that they are. On to the fic...

F#&%!!!

It is dark, too dark to see anything. So I flip on the lamp just long enough flick a lighter and set a candle’s wick to flame. A click and the lamp dims out of existence. Flickering candlelight is all that remains.

It isn’t golden, like people always say it is. But it turns the pale skin of her forearms and face to burnished gold, somehow making her even more beautiful, which I had doubted was possible. I settle myself on top of her, burrowing into her body, trying to get closer and realizing that I can’t. The feel of her hands on my back, gliding under my shirt, makes me impossible hot. I look to my left and briefly contemplate a black tie and all the implications thereof, then decide against it because I like what she’s doing to me way too much.

I brace my arms to either side of her and lift up just slightly above her, bringing my lips within inches of hers. She groans quietly as she tries to kiss me but my body pins her down. I draw my lips closer so that they are a feathers touch against hers, but there is no pressure. We are more breathing into each others mouths than kissing. She whimpers. The torture goes on a moment longer as I flick my tongue over her lips and she groans, then she grabs my head with her hand in an attempt to force me to kiss her. I grin and for a moment am able to keep her from ducking my head, but her arm is stronger than my neck, and my neck is fairly powerful so I’m mildly surprised as she kisses me hard, forcing our lips into each other. Her tongue flicks over mine, barely scrapes my teeth.

“Take your shirt off,” she says. It’s not a plea, but it’s closer to that than it is to a command. “I want to feel your skin against mine.” Her hands have found their way back under my shirt and have it up around my shoulders, still covering my arms. I’m wearing a long-sleeved white shirt. It hides the shallow scratches on my left arm.

“Give me a reason to,” I say back, allowing my voice into one of it’s lower registers, not yet a growl. I don’t feel like letting her have what she wants just yet.

“What do you want me to do?” Her voice is barely more than breath against my ear and it’s so hot. It’s low, and it’s sexy, and it lets me know exactly what she wants to do.

“Use your imagination,” I answer with a smirk. I’m enjoying this way too much. She groans into my ear. I’m fairly certain that, by now, she knows what effect that has on me. And I have little to no will power as her groan shifts into a moan. Suddenly I’m soaked. I’ve been wet all night. But now I’m soaked.

“What do you want me to do?” she asks again, her voice vibrant with frustration. God, that’s hot.

For a while I am silent, my lips resting on her chest, vaguely kissing her collarbone. Then I draw myself up again and bring my lips to her, reengaging my recently acquired form of torture. We are breathing the same air. She exhales as I inhale and vice versa. My tongue wets her lips for her and she whimpers, but this time she lets me continue as I wish, her hands rubbing against my back. I lick at the underside of her upper lip, and her breath comes short, but I do not allow the touch to become a kiss. “What do you want me to do?” I ask her, throwing her own question back at her for an entirely different reason.

“Do whatever you want.” Her answer is almost a plea, but not yet. “I’m so yours.” I wish I could tell you how she sounds. It’s the sexiest thing about her: her voice. Most people, when they talk, have these high-pitched, hollow, echoey voices. But hers is so rich, and full, and it says so much about her. It would be low but for the fact that it’s so incredibly female. I don’t know how to describe it. My voice is low and almost raspy. Hers is sharp, and clear, and full. The way I like my music. It’s quite possibly the sexiest thing about her. I don’t have to look at her to get turned on. She speaks and I get so incredibly hot.

“Mm.” She threads her fingers into my hair and I can feel her about to drag my mouth to hers again. “If you want something, ask for it.” I’m speaking directly against her lips, occasionally allowing my tongue to play over them.

“I just want a kiss,” she moans, and now it’s a plea. My lips press against hers fully now, but only for a brief moment, then I dart away and bury my face in her shoulder.

“Is that all?” I ask. She groans and just lays there panting.

I wonder briefly if I’m being too cruel. I pull myself up over her again so that there is some small amount of space between us. “You know what I want?” It’s a question but I don’t ask it that way.

“What?” she breathes.

“I want you to scratch the hell outta my back,” I growl. She responds by bringing her nails up to my shoulders and tearing them down my back. I arch into the contact, loving every moment of it. God, that gets me off so much. Hence the little knife scratches on my left arm. I just got a little carried away. But she isn’t even scratching hard enough to leave welts and I wish so much that she would. I can scratch harder than that.

She manages somehow to get my arms at the right angle and pulls my shirt off over my head. I realize that I’ve lost, dammit, at my own damn game. But I’m not terribly mad. I just remember to make her pay for it later.

She rips her shirt off and I press against her as she runs her nails down my back and I groan, wishing silently that she would scratch harder but not saying anything. I rise up to kiss her, and this time set my lips to hers fully. Our tongues dance against each other, tasting, caressing, and it continues for an eternity with little breaks for air as her hands rifle through my hair and rub at my back.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask again. Eventually she’ll get the point that it’s not bondage, I’m not really teasing her, I’m just a complete idiot and sometimes, yes, it’s nice to have instructions. No, I’m really trying to be a tease. Just kidding.

“I want you to take your pants off and rub against me.” God damn, that’s hot. I’m actually incredibly selfish. I just want to hear her insanely sexy voice breathing against my ear. I get off at hearing her tell me what to do. I make a bad tease...

“Just my pants?” I ask, and then kick myself. I shouldn’t have said that, because now I can’t tease her. Damn it...

“No, take your underwear off too.” I could ask her to give me a reason again, but my mind has decided for me that I have plenty of reason right here. So I make quick work of my pants, rolling over to tear them off as she removes her plaid pajamas. I toss them somewhere to my... left, I guess. My camouflaged underwear follows, and for the second time tonight she removes her own blue panties.

I roll back on top of her, and her hips rise up to meet mine as she moans, her head tilted back. I press against her, soaked as I am, and feel a vague foreshadowing of orgasm. Our lips press together in heated abandon, and I move to press my thigh into her, dragging it against her soaked pussy. Her head presses back against the pillow as she whimpers. I won’t lie; half the reason I’m doing this is to hear her make these incredible noises. The other half of the reason is split between the fact that I’m really getting off at this, and I want to make her orgasm.

“Put your fingers inside,” she commands, and it’s almost as if we’ve switched places. But I don’t care. I want her to beg, but I keep that to myself.

I comply to her command, allowing my left hand to travel down her abdomen and slipping my index finger into her. She moans a little, so I pull it out and add my middle finger. She’s a little tight but wet enough that it doesn’t matter, and I move my fingers inside her. Her head has fallen back against the pillow and her moans intensify.

By now I’m aching with need and its almost as if she knows because her hand finds its way down my side into my soaked crotch. She enters me and I almost die. We thrust into each other and she knows that I like it hard, thank God, as her nails scratch against my cervix. There is absolutely nothing like having her in me when I’m on top, except being screwed while standing up. And really, this might be better than standing up.

She brings her mouth even with my ear and for a moment my brain stops at her moans. Then she speaks, and I get even wetter. “Rub my pussy.” Yeah, I could come and I haven’t hardly been touched yet. You have no idea how hot that is. I could die.

I pull my fingers out and rub my hand against her. My fingers glide across her entirety, and her moans become louder. She doesn’t moan nearly enough though, which is a shame because when she does it’s so hot.

She pulls out of me now and rubs against me. In a voice that almost breaks me she asks “What do you want?” and by now I’m almost tired of this question.

In my frustration I growl “I want you to the fuck the hell outta me,” and she manages to flip me over. My world shatters as she reenters me forcefully, shoving me back until my head taps the wall. I love every moment, breathing “Harder” so that it’s barely audible and I’m not sure she can hear me. But I don’t care ‘cause now she moving out of me, straight in and out and right then it’s so perfect. She shoves into me hard and it hurts, but God it’s hurts so good. I’m fairly certain she tore something, but I don’t care about that until the next day. Or later that day, actually, since it’s now 5 or 6 AM.

“God yes,” I breathe between moans. My breath comes in fast pants and suddenly her lips find mine and they meet and I can barely kiss her I’m so lost. She kisses down my chest and then down my abdomen until she’s just below my navel, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s gonna go down on me. I hate it being gone down on. It’s happened to me twice and both times it did nothing for me. It actually turns me off. But either out of respect, lack of desire, or lack of experience she doesn’t. And I realize that I wouldn’t have cared if she did. A small, imbecilic part of me that still thinks it turns me on, and it doesn’t, wishes she had.

Eventually I remember that I’m defective because of my antidepressants and can’t orgasm, but that’s okay ‘cause it’s working up to the orgasm that makes it so much fun.

Gradually she winds down and we rest, naked and intertwined in each other. The candle continues to flicker on the table beside my bed, and her skin is all of it that wonderful golden color. I kiss her shoulder and fall into silence with her.

Post Author’s Note: Thanks for sticking it out with me. Um, yeah, questions, comments, and criticisms to ZEKKR@aol.com. Don’t flame me, I may flame you back, and that has a tendency to get really stupid really fast. So yeah. I’m outta here.