[identity profile] annabeth.livejournal.com in [community profile] osgood_asitgets
I'll Never Get You Out of My Mind
Hockey RPS/Detroit Red Wings/San José Sharks. | always-a-girl!Niklas Kronwall/Brad Stuart. | explicit sexual content. barebacking. angst. angstporn. sadporn. body image issues. infidelity/infidelity!kink. explicit language. strong language. | NC-17 | 6232 words. | written for Porn Battle XV; prompts fold, eyes, hands, mouth, roughing, return. | this is essentially an AU of [archiveofourown.org profile] lostcoastlines's AU girl!Wings 'verse ("Shape of Things to Come"). You can find that on AO3 here (locked to members of AO3, sorry). But you don't really need to read that for this to make sense. Although this only really references the events of "Every Type of Girl" anyway. | unbeta'd. | | Title from "I Will Never Forget You" by Danielle Bradbery. | If Nik closes her eyes, the image of Stuie's face is burned into her mind.



If Nik closes her eyes, the image of Stuie's face is burned into her mind. It's a picture she'll never forget, but not always something she wants to remember.

"Open your eyes, Nik," she hears, but she can't. She feels the tears leak from the creases where she's squeezing them closed. She just can't. Waking up to a dream would be the worst thing, the very worst thing.

"C'mon, Nik."

"No," she says, shaking her head, fighting her subconscious. Fighting swimming up towards life and awareness again.

But then soft, gentle fingers—fingers she remembers well—touch her eyelids. A feathery brush, not enough pressure to hurt, and she does open her eyes this time, in surprise.

"Nik," Stuie says, and Nik scrubs at her eyes, at the tears there.

"No," she says, shaking her head against her pillow. "You're not here. You're a figment of my imagination—all of this was my imagination."

But Stuie smiles, pleasure transforming an already beautiful mouth.

"I've been here since last night," Stuie says, skimming his palm down Nik's bare body. She almost reaches up to either cover herself or grab his hand, but stops. She doesn't need to be self-conscious around Stuie. She may not be very pretty or well-shaped or curvy or whatever, but Stuie has never seemed to care.

Her chest is rising and falling quickly now, pushing her unimpressive breasts upward with each inhale.

"Stuie," she breathes. His smile is radiant.

"You remember me," he laughs, and Nik stumbles over a smile of her own. She's a little cold and more than a little overwhelmed by the reality of Stuie kneeling above her on her bed.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, still trying to disarm the dream that woke her. The one where Stuie leaves.

"We have a game," he says simply, flattening his palm over her belly, that stupid part of her that's always too rounded, no matter how much muscle she puts on or how much weight she loses during a season.

"We—" but then Nik remembers. San José. The last season before Stuie left, and they'd promised to stay in touch, even though he was leaving to be with the wife and kids he'd left behind.

Yeah, the name "San José" now has a barrelful of unpleasant memories for Nik.

"Sorry," Stuie says, and the smile flits from his face. "I know I said I'd call, but—"

"No," Nik says quickly, hurrying to cut him off. "You don't have to explain. Of course I understand."

If he says the name "Melissa" she'll probably start bawling like a stupid idiot that doesn't belong in the NHL.

"I said I'd call," Stuie continues on, as if she hasn't spoken. "But things have been so hectic, and just—"

Just fitting back into my life, like the missing puzzle piece found under the couch, Nik thinks for him.

"I said I get it," Nik says out loud, though. "What I don't get is why…" but it starts flickering back to life in her mind, getting drunk the night before, then the phone call… and Nik had answered it three sheets to the wind, so inviting Stuie over had probably seemed like a good idea.

She shoves at his hand, realising again that she's naked, and she's not particularly happy about it.

"What are you doing, anyway? Where are my clothes? Did—did we…"

"No," Stuie says, taking his hands off her. He sits back a little and Nik can see that he's still dressed, his shirt rumpled and his jeans unbuttoned, but other than that, fully clothed. Thank goodness. "You got a little frisky last night and stripped down for me," Stuie tells her, and Nik can feel the flush start somewhere around her navel and travel everywhere, "and then I put you to bed because you'd obviously had too much to drink."

"I don't know what you're doing in my bedroom right now, but—"

"Nik, stop," Stuie says, sounding desperate now. "I'm so unhappy at home," he confesses. "It's just not… nothing is right. I feel like a ghost. My kids, they love me, I get it, but… But I just keep remembering what you and I had and—"

"Your choice," Nik says, trying to get the sheet out from beneath Stuie so she can wrap herself up in it like a mummy. "You decided, Stuie, so this is all irrelevant."

"It's not," Stuie says, grabbing her hands and holding them in his, stilling them. She tries not to think about how damn naked she is—the sheets are twisted next to her head and out from under her feet, literally leaving her entire body exposed. She clamps her thighs together, but it doesn't help; that part of her that burns for him is embarrassingly wet and just as humiliatingly empty. Because she wants him there. His fingers, his delicious mouth, his cock.

Oh God.

How can she still want him this bad, even after all this time? Even after he essentially chose his wife over her?

But there he is, on her bed, his face open and showing a little bit of hurt—and what right does he have to hurt? She's the one left behind. She ought to be able to make the rules about who is allowed to be in pain, not him.

"Get off my bed," Nik commands, "and out of my house."

"Nik," Stuie murmurs, and puts his hand on her stomach again. He strokes her softly with his thumb, until she can feel how achingly empty she is again, until her hips are making embarrassing little movements against the bed. She feels a droplet of her juices drip and run down her lower lips. Just before it hits the bed, Stuie catches it with his finger, and then presses his finger against her, but lightly. Not enough. Not enough pressure.

"Stuie—" she says, or tries to say, but it comes out a breathless gasp. It's as if he knows what she wants, in spite of her words to the contrary; he dips his finger into her wetness and then draws it up her slit and over her clit.

She moans and her pelvis rocks against the bed, particularly after Stuie parts her folds, carefully and gently, and then works a finger inside her.

Nik is never going to admit that she hasn't had anyone inside her body since he left, but he can probably tell; even one finger feels tight at first—but then, he has large hands, and she's always been fascinated by them.

"I can give you more," he says, just as out-of-breath as she is, and he isn't even doing anything. She keeps her eyes on his face, on his beautiful blue eyes, and tries not to let her gaze wander downward to see if he's as hard as she is wet.

She can feel the slick as he moves his finger in and out of her, can hear the horribly embarrassing noises her body makes as he does.

"Nik," Stuie repeats, but Nik puts her hands on her hipbones and holds herself against the bed. She can't stop him—she just can't bring herself to do it physically—but she can stop him.

"I meant it," she says, out of oxygen and running on fumes. "Out of my house."

Stuie slides his finger back out of her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she says, but it's weak and thready even to her own ears, not certain and angry at all.

Stuie frowns a little, lush lips turning down. She forces down the desire to kiss him, just once. He moves his finger in a circle around her clit, then plays with her folds, not putting it back in, just sweeping his fingertips over her soft flesh.

Nik sighs and tries to stifle the happy little noises her body wants her to make.

"I don't think you're sure," Stuie says sotto voce. "I think I'll just—" and he shoves his finger back in, rougher this time. Not enough to hurt, not anything she wouldn't ordinarily like, but obviously asserting dominance over her.

She doesn't like it.

It makes her feel liquid inside, and that's worse. He works his finger in up to the knuckle, then stuffs another in beside it, and begins to scissor them.

"You're so damn tight," he says in wonder. She can't help but think that he must have been disappointed, then, the last time he fucked her—over a year ago—because she wasn't all closed up like a virgin then.

"Stuie—" she tries to warn, but instead of listening to her—as if he can read her mind, and already knows what she really wants anyway—he begins to move his fingers in and out of her faster, and Nik just cannot stop her thighs from opening wider, to give him more space; her hips from rising off the bed; she can't keep herself from fucking back every time he starts to withdraw them.

She's utterly wrecked by the fact that there is a tightness in her throat suggesting she might cry, and that it's because this is all she's wanted ever since he went away, and now he's back, and she can't have it, she can't allow herself to have it—she has to remember that he's going to go back to San José.

He smiles at her, the bastard. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, and Nik shakes her head yes—but she knows already that he won't stop.

And she knows already that she couldn't bear it if he did, and God, that jerk, he knows it.

"All right," Stuie says, pulling his fingers free with a wet "plop".

Nik gasps and her body splays open for a moment before slowly remembering its regular shape.

"Stuie," she tries, but her throat is a hard knot. She can't get any more words out. She can't stand it if he goes back to San José. She can't stand it if he doesn't fuck her right the fuck now.

He ghosts his finger along her folds again. Nik's eyes drop closed and she gives up a little bit, gives in just a little, bucking her hips so that her sopping wet cunt nudges against his hand. She's almost ashamed of how wet she is, how much she obviously wants this, and how she's probably leaving her juices all over him.

"Okay, then," he says, and opens her up around his fingers again. This time Nik lets him start the rhythm before she takes it over. She's totally not going to think about how goddamn desperate she must look. Figures, he goes home to his wife, and now he ought to be able to tell by her reactions that she's been sitting around fucking pining for him instead of just fucking around.

"Nik," he says, catching her attention. "You have to tell me. Do you want more?"

"Y-yes," she says, shoving her hips up so that her cunt swallows up his fingers and bumps against his hand. "More, Stuie. Fuck me."

She should be embarrassed by giving in, by the fact that he ultimately got to her against her better judgement, but honestly, now all she wants—more than anything—is to feel his heavy cock pumping inside of her.

Stuie's fingers go still deep within her body, and she dares a peek up at his face. He looks surprised.

"Are you really sure?" he asks, not sounding quite as composed anymore. His breathing is still irregular, though.

Nik opens her eyes the rest of the way and holds his gaze steadily.

"Yeah," she says. He tugs his fingers free with another obscene sound and reaches for the zipper of his jeans before his hand stops.

"I don't have a condom," he says regretfully. "I didn't think—"

Nik feels her face suffuse with heat. Of course not. He's probably been totally faithful to Melissa since he moved back home. Why would he carry condoms around with him anymore?

She tries to tell her body not to feel the disappointment, to ease the ache in her core that is begging for fulfillment. But she can't. She's too far gone already to go back, and she hates it.

"I-it's fine," she mutters, trying to school her expression into blankness.

"Maybe another time," Stuie says awkwardly, wiping his hand against his denim-clad thigh. Nik tries not to notice how goddamn good his thighs look encased in his jeans—tries not to think about how good they'd look outside of his jeans. "Uh, I mean—"

But of course he's never going to do this again. He's not stupid—though that does beg the question of why he started this in the first place after all he did to repair his marriage.

She wishes she could stop thinking about his wife.

Then she remembers his comment about how he doesn't even fuck her without a condom, and it makes her bold—and probably also stupid, but hey.

"Never mind," she says, "do it without."

Stuie looks startled, hand stilling on his jeans where he's still wiping away her residue.

"What?" he says, but from the caught expression on his face, he heard what she said, and he's considering it. No, more than that. He wants it.

In fact, he has a hunted look about him now, like she just hit a nerve. Maybe she has.

"When was the last time you fucked M-your wife?" Nik asks, even though it's a potential mood douser. But he just… there's something about his face, his shuttered eyes, his lips which are twisted almost ironically.

"I don't know why you're asking me that," he says, which is at least better than, none of your business, which is no less than she deserves. It's not, anyway, except for the fact that there must be a reason he's all over Nik right now, and why he seems like a rabbit in a snare.

"I think you do know why," Nik says, challenging him outright. Stuie sighs and ducks his head so that his hair hangs into his eyes.

"I don't remember," he admits. He shifts on the bed and the mattress springs creak.

"Really?" she asks, surprise colouring her voice. She wasn't quite expecting that. "It's been that long?"

"Do we really need to talk about my wife?" Stuie asks, but he doesn't glance up. Nik thinks he might be staring at her. She wants to close her legs, but she doesn't. She just tips her head back a little, arching her back, working the kinks out of her neck.

It gives Stuie some time, but more than that, it gives her a chance to think. If Stuie doesn't remember…

She finishes her stretch and subsides back onto the bed. "Yeah."

Stuie moves, and his hand accidentally comes into contact with Nik's thigh. She's grateful that, when she got drunk last night and invited him over, at least her legs were shaved. That could have been embarrassing.

He visibly reacts to touching her skin, and Nik is surprised. Just minutes ago he was finger-fucking her like he had no shame in the world, and now he's yanking his hand back like her skin burns.

"Listen," he says, "I really don't want to talk about it."

Nik gives in and closes her legs, at least, as best she can with Stuie perched in between her knees.

"Then what did you call me for last night?" she asks. Stuie shrugs, one-shouldered, and for a moment his hair parts and she can see the red on the balls of his cheeks.

"All right, fine. I wanted to see my friend. We are still friends?"

"I don't know," Nik admits. "You haven't called me since you moved back to San José." Maybe she's being petty, and she should just give him a free pass—after all, why should a married man call the woman he cheated with for all that time?—but she just can't bring herself to do it. She respects herself too much to let herself just be shunted aside, which is basically what he did.

"I-I couldn't," Stuie says, and it sounds like a confidence.

"Why couldn't you?" Nik asks. Her body is still throbbing, aware that it was receiving a lot of tailored attention and now it's clamoring for release.

Stuie finally meets her eyes again. "You know why," he says.

Oh. So that's it. Nik rubs at her eye. It still hurts a little from the tears she held back.

He still loves her. Nik. He loves her, and he didn't want to get caught by his wife doing anymore cheating—and calling her, talking to her, would have been a form of cheating.

Nik hates herself for understanding his reasons and being unable to fault him for them.

"So," she says. She parts her thighs. "You're not fucking her. Fuck me instead."

"I really shouldn't," Stuie says, and now he sounds all guilty on her, even as she lets her glance flicker down and take in the sight of his cock, firm and bulging against the fly of his jeans. It's his turn, apparently, to try to deny himself what he really wants.

Nik levers herself up on her elbows, then wiggles around till she's sitting up.

"I might as well take matters into my own hands then," she says, and reaches for his unbuttoned fly.

"Nik—" Stuie says, but whether it's a warning or a plea, she can't decide, and she doesn't really care. She pulls down his zipper and slips her hand inside.

"I bet you wish you could… just… slide this into me, don't you?" Nik can feel the hot flush that accompanies the dirty talk, but the way Stuie shudders, the way his cock drips into her palm, tells her he likes it, even if it's something new and a little different.

"God," Stuie mutters, and his hips jerk forward, driving his hot, stiff flesh into her hand. "No, stop," he says, though.

Nik pauses, but she doesn't take her hands off him.

"Does she get you off?" Nik asks instead. Stuie quivers in her hand, and his body shakes a little. He turns his head back and forth: no. "She doesn't even get you off?"

"Nik," he warns; she's treading on thin ice. But they were best friends before they ever started this… fucking… thing between them, so she ignores the warning bells.

"Do you—?"

Stuie sighs, his shoulders slumping. But his dick remains erect and interested.

"Do I, what?" he asks. Nik rolls her eyes heavenward.

"How do you get off, then? Do you cheat, still?"

"No," Stuie says, "and I would really appreciate if if y—"

"Masturbate?"

"Jesus, Nik," Stuie explodes. "Leave it alone."

"For fuck's sake," Nik says, and drops his dick like it's personally offended her. "Are you telling me you stopped getting off when you stopped having sex? Did she cut you off?"

Stuie throws himself face-first onto the bed next to Nik, and it's a good thing she has a queen bed or he might have brained himself to death on the wall, and how would she have explained that to the San José Sharks?

"It happened… before." His speech is muffled by the bed.

"Before when?" Nik turns onto her side, and even though her body is starting to recognise that it's not getting off any time soon, she's fighting the arousal still threatening.

"Before I moved back home," Stuie says, as he turns his head to take a breath. His breathing is uneven, but whether it's because of trying to inhale her sheets or because he's probably still hard as stone, Nik can't tell.

"Jesus, Stuie," she says. The picture taking shape in her mind isn't a pretty one. She's not sure—and she's been intrusive enough, so she may not ask—but it sounds like Melissa cut him off even after he'd allegedly repaired things with her, and she hasn't allowed him any sort of sexual satisfaction since. Not that Melissa could precisely stop him from doing things like fucking random chicks on the road like he used to do, but apparently he's been too afraid to muck things up with her again.

Yet here he is, with her, the person who caused all the trouble in the first place. Melissa hadn't complained about the meaningless hookups before; only after Stuie had an actual affair did she get upset.

"Let's just pretend I'm anyone," Nik suggests. "I'll be the flirty, slutty blonde, and you can be the big strong hockey player I'm a puck bunny for." She wiggles her fingers in front of his face, and Stuie captures some of them with his lips and mouths at them gently.

Nik feels more wetness squeeze out between her legs. She's definitely still ready.

He lets go of her fingers and sighs. "I can't pretend," he tells her apologetically. "I don't want to think of you that way."

"Stuie, you have to give yourself some relief, I mean, come on. She's got you on such a tight leash now it's like a cock ring that never comes off. Eventually, they all have to come off."

He looks at her curiously. "What do you know about cock rings?" he asks, almost innocently. This surprises a burst of laughter from Nik.

"I'm not a little kid," she says, "I have some experience."

Stuie's face darkens and the script written there is one of jealousy. Nik had missed that expression on his features. Missed when it meant she'd said or done something that had, intentionally or not, upset his confidence about himself and where he stood with her.

"Jesus, Stu," she says, "I'm really not. I'm no shrinking violet."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replies, "but sometimes I…"

"You what?" Nik gets tired of waiting and grabs his limp wrist, pulls his hand down to her cunt and presses it against the warm ache there.

Stuie gives her a wounded look, like she's playing dirty, which she totally is.

"Sometimes I just forget," he finishes lamely.

"That's not what you were going to say," Nik announces conversationally as she uses her own hand to cause his to put more pressure on her. Willingly, Stuie starts to touch her, to explore parts of her body he used to know as well as his own.

"Sometimes I want to think you've only ever been mine," he confesses at last.

"That's ridiculous," Nik scoffs. "You knew going into this I didn't belong to any one person. And I never belonged to you either," she adds, poking his jaunty nose with her free hand. She pulls her other hand away from her lower body now that Stuie's lightly caressing her.

She longs for more of the hard and fast pressure of earlier, though.

"Yeah," Stuie says, but even though he's clearly agreeing with her, Nik's not sure that, secretly, he doesn't believe differently.

She'd disabuse him of the notion if it weren't kind of endearing.

"So anyway," she goes on, jacking her hips upward to create more friction, "I mean it, Stu. You can fuck me."

It's funny that, now that she's on board with this, he's the reluctant one. But Stuie scootches over on the bed until his lovely lips are pressing against the side of her breast, and she can almost believe that they're pretty enough. Almost.

It's like back when this whole thing first started—at least she thinks this is when it started—and Stuie had essentially assured her that she was, well, enough. At the time she had been slightly drunk and hadn't questioned it, the things he was saying to her, but later, once they started fucking, she'd think about it sometimes—how he had looked at her, even way back then. How had she never noticed?

Nik is just starting to think that as far as they're going to get is this, his lips inches from her nipple and his fingers sliding in and out of her, when he lets her go, sitting up and stripping his shirt over his head.

"Stuie," she says, admiring his chest and belly, "kiss me."

He looks startled, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him.

"Is that a problem?" Nik asks, suddenly a little bit uncertain. Maybe he doesn't want that from her anymore? Maybe in his head he really is pretending she's some puck bunny or hooker or something, and—

"No," Stuie says, almost reverently. "It's never a problem," he tosses it out there, and Nik is confused. What is his problem? It's not the fact that he's cheating on his wife—even now, though he knows it would upset her, it's not stopping him—and if it's not Nik, then what is it? He seems like a closed book to her all of a sudden.

"If it's not a problem," she starts, "then why do you look like I asked you to eat a frog?"

And then a light dawns.

"When was the last time you kissed Melissa?" This time, she doesn't even bother trying to be coy. What's the point?

"Oh, Nik," Stuie says, playing it off, but that's all the answer she needs.

"Are you serious? You moved back to San José, rejoined their team, made promises to her about fidelity, all of that, and she doesn't even let you kiss her?" Nik is incredulous.

"It's not that simple," Stuie bullshits, scratching his toned belly. Nik keeps her eyes as far from his bare skin as she can. She doesn't think they're ever going to actually fuck, but now she's royally pissed. Not just because, well, this is what she gave him up for? But also on his behalf, because what the fuck? Shouldn't his wife, if she wanted him to be hers so bad, be willing to compromise at least a little?

"Yes, it is," Nik says. And even though she doesn't think he's going to do it, to go through with it, well, fuck that noise.

Nik sits up again too and joins her hands behind Stuie's back, pulling him in close, like she's just going to give him an awesome hug, her bare breasts against his bare chest, but then, just when she's got him, she flips him onto his back on the bed.

Nik doesn't even bother with trying to get his jeans off. She doesn't worry about whether it's a smart idea to do what she's about to do.

Maybe it's even running along a knife's edge of consent, but she knows Stuie does want her, so she bites her lower lip and reaches down. When she gets her hand around his cock, she parts her folds and guides him into her, all of that luscious bare skin.

It is a tight, tight fit at first, even after his fingers stretching her before. She can barely get a few inches in, and both of them gasp, his expression going serene, a strange sort of thing for something like this.

But Nik isn't about to be thwarted by her own body. Inhaling, she lets out a long, slow breath, relaxing her muscles—everywhere. It helps. She manages to lower herself down another couple inches, and as she does, she can feel her body begin to accommodate him.

"Nikki," Stuie says, throat raspy. He doesn't move, though, even though Nik thinks it might be killing him to go at her current pace.

"Yeah," she replies, and finally, with a little bit of effort, she sinks down all the way until he's sheathed completely within her.

Neither of them move.

Stuie breaks first. His eyes had been glued to her face, and while he lets her just sit on him, his cock buried to the hilt, he reaches up with his hands and cups her small breasts.

"Stop it," Nik says, trying to bat his hands away.

"Why?" Stuie asks. His eyes convey that he really doesn't understand why.

"B-because," Nik stammers, unwilling to tell him exactly what she's thinking—which is generally that her breasts are small and stupid and my God, Melissa's are much nicer and wouldn't he rather, even—

Nik kills the train of thought. Stuie's watching her closely. He easily overpowers her hands with one of his, and with the other, he begins to play with her nipple.

"Does someone have a complex?" he teases, and Nik burns bright, like a candle. Like the kind of candle too close to the curtains that is liable to set everything else around it on fire.

Yeah, Nik is burning pretty hot, and not all of it feels good.

"I-no, of course not," she says, trying to wrench her wrists out of his grasp.

"I like this," Stuie says. He lets go of her, but instead of ignoring her stupid breasts, which are too small to be enticing but not small enough to keep from bouncing if she moves—dammit—he wraps his arms around her back and pulls her forward. This causes his cock to shift at an angle within her and Nik cries out, thready and uneven, as he puts his mouth—his gorgeous mouth, Jesus fucking Christ—on her nipple.

His cock strokes against her and this new position has pulled it out of her body somewhat; Stuie rectifies this by thrusting up.

Her breasts swing a little and Nik closes her eyes so she doesn't have to see the look on his face. He likes fucking her—she doesn't really understand why, she never quite figured it out—but it's hard to imagine he could prefer her body in any way to that of his wife.

Still, his tongue is doing filthy things to her nipple, making it tighten up into a little edgy point in between his lips.

"Stuie," she pants, "stop it, please, stop, stop…"

His mouth leaves her nipple. "Seriously?"

"Not fucking me, you dolt," she says, putting her hand on his chest and shoving, even though that accomplishes nothing since he's lying against the mattress. "Just. Cool it with my tits."

"You don't like it?" He pokes her in the side. Nik pushes herself back into a sitting position, acutely aware of his cock still pressing into her, and wraps her arms around her middle.

"It's not that," she hedges. "But, well, you know. Get to the point."

"Do you like it, Nikki?" he asks again. Nik abandons covering her fat stomach to cover her face. She can't even look at him now.

"I-I guess," she confides in him, even though she usually tries to keep her breasts and belly and hips and everything non-essential out of it. But if she's honest with herself, she would like it—would want his hands all over her, if she thought it wouldn't turn out to be a disappointment.

"It's not a bad thing," Stuie tells her. He sounds deadly serious. "Nikki, stop hiding your face."

Her plain face. If only she were beautiful like Jo. If only… God, if only she looked like anyone but herself.

Maybe Stuie just fucks her because he likes the way she behaves out on the ice—that kind of self-confidence, it could have gotten under his skin, but she finds it unlikely that he's all that attracted to her physically.

Not that she has trouble picking up guys, but she's a female NHL player. What guy wouldn't want to hit that, even if she's not all that pretty?

Stuie sighs and captures her hands, tugging them away from her face.

"Other players say I have DSLs," Stuie says wryly. This brings Nik out of herself a bit in shock.

"But they're gorgeous!" she blurts, then realises what she's admitted to and wants to fall into another dimension.

"That's my point," he says. Nik is fixing to argue with him some more when he cants his hips up and almost dislodges her, if not for the fact that he's got her impaled on his dick.

She cries out and he gloats a little in triumph, reaching for her tits again even as he starts to move, because Nik has been too distracted to do anything but sit on his cock like a ninny.

"No," she says, but Stuie closes his hands around as much of each breast as he can, and she's a little surprised that his hands overfill a bit.

"I like these," he says, and bucks his hips again. It's like a deep thrust, with no real relief in between, and Nik discovers she's thriving on it.

"You know what," he says, as he drives into her again, "I like this too," and he kisses his fingertips and puts them on her belly. "I bet you hate it."

Nik impatiently tucks her hair behind her ears and glares at him.

"Shut up and fuck me," she demands.

"You hate it," Stuie says, and his eyes are laughing.

"Fuck you," she grits out, as she finally gathers her wits and grinds down onto him, all the way until her lips rub against his pelvic bone.

"I'm not laughing at you," Stuie says. "Not in the way you think."

He grabs her around the waist and flips them both over again, and Nik lets out an undignified squeak to find herself suddenly out of control.

"Now I can do whatever I want," Stuie crows, and he immediately grips her hips in his hands, then tightens them, until she's certain it's going to bruise.

He draws out of her in one long, agonisingly slow movement, leaving her suddenly bereft and aching, the throb in her body unappeased.

"Stuie!" she says, and it comes out a yell. Stuie grins at her. He's too fucking happy. "I will get you back for this," she threatens. Stuie doesn't seem too worried about it. "I'll make you tell me why you can't fuck your wife," she throws out, wondering if it will stick.

Stuie's crestfallen expression makes her feel even worse than if she'd just let him have his way about her tits and so on.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Stuie sucks his lower lip in between his teeth and, one hand on his cock, urges the head back into her cunt.

It's almost as if she's lit a fire under him now, because he gets past her slight resistance and pushes the rest of the way in almost with enough force to hurt.

"Hey, be careful," she says, and Stuie winds up chewing on the corner of his lip as he buries his dick inside her softness.

She's wet enough, though, that even that much extra roughness won't do any damage beyond maybe a slight burn tomorrow when she wakes up.

"I'm not fucking Melissa because…" but he trails off and starts to really pound into her in earnest. She waits for him to finish his sentence, but he doesn't.

He just amuses himself by playing with her breasts, by running his fingertips up and down her sides, and finally, once when he's all the way to hilt into her, he bows his back and strains downward until he can kiss her.

Nik supposes that's the closest he might come to giving her a real compliment beyond, "I like these," which she has to admit, isn't bad.

Things are really starting to go haywire in her body though. Her muscles are clenching against him, and she can feel the wave building. The little contractions of her inner muscles slowly grow in strength until she tips over and her whole body begins to convulse with her orgasm.

She can feel everything going taut and her eyes close, and lost in darkness and sensation, she almost doesn't register that, when Stuie starts to come, he forgets himself.

He growls a little in the back of his throat and his cock jerks and jerks inside, and then he's coming in earnest and holy shit, thank God she's on the Pill because he's not wearing a condom and he just filled her up with his semen.

Nik opens her eyes. Stuie pulls out, looking vaguely guilty.

"I'm sorry, God, Nik," he says at once. Nik tries to shrug, but she's lost the ability to move. He collapses again to the bed beside her, starting to trace stupid little patterns over her torso. Maybe he's counting scars. She wasn't great to begin with, but she's sure the scars don't help.

"Tell me why Melissa won't let you fuck her," Nik says quietly.

Just as quietly, Stuie responds, "Because she said I cheated on her, who knew how many times, and she didn't trust me anymore."

Nik lies there, digesting this, and then something breaks through the wall of fog in her brain.

"But I did," she says. "I let you fuck me bareback."

"Yeah," Stuie says. He sounds almost asleep. "That's why… why I had to see you again."

"You planned to fuck me without a condom?" Nik asks, in disbelief.

"No, no," Stuie says. He's definitely losing the battle with consciousness. "I had to see you because… because I knew you would still trust me."

And then Stuie's hand flattens out on her belly, still, as he falls silent and drops off to sleep.

Nik is left alone with her thoughts.

Too bad almost all of them revolve around a desire to keep Stuie at war with the knowledge that she never, ever can.

END.

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