#anytime shilo’s like ‘this is the first time we are doing something like this yes? brother things’

[rose-of-gabriel]

Rainy Day

There are days when you don’t want to talk. All you want to do is fuck your boyfriend seven ways to Sunday on the laundry room floor.

Light-hearted smut with feelings that I hope makes you happy. No fandom or anything, just smut. F/M, 1615 Words

By the time I make it up the driveway, my clothes are soaked through to my underwear. It’s one of those cliché bad days where the universe finds about a hundred different ways to say “fuck you!” I heave the garage door open and slip inside, kicking off my shoes before entering the laundry room. I stand there awhile, sopping wet and pissed at the world. Shilo’s watching TV – Game of Thrones, from the sound of it. I know he heard me come in. (I may have slammed the door a little harder than necessary) “Hey, Shi?” I call, peeling off my jacket and tossing it into the washing machine. The volume of the TV dies down a little and he calls back, “Yeah?” His voice is muffled like his mouth’s full of food. “Are you super attached to the TV right now?” I stress the word super because if he’s only moderately attached, I won’t feel as guilty about pulling him away from it. “It’s On Demand.” he says, turning it off altogether, “I can catch up later.” “Are you tired?” I stand on one foot and try to wrangle my sock off. “Uh, no.” “Are you opposed to physical exercise?” “Right now or in general?” I groan, “Now.” He opens the door to the laundry room, dimples puckering as he attempts to hold in a laugh. I don’t want to think about what I look like right now – ghostly pale with dark hair clinging to my face like seaweed. I don’t want him asking why I look so pissed. There are days when you don’t want to talk. All you want to do is fuck your boyfriend seven ways to Sunday on the laundry room floor. Shi closes the door a bit behind him so there’s just enough light left in the room for me to see that dumb smile still on his face. “So when you asked about physical activity, I thought you meant sex.” he looks me over again, “But now I’m thinking you want to bludgeon someone.” I feel the tension in my shoulders deflate. He’s not wrong. “Sex first.” I mutter. He laughs freely this time and takes a step closer. In our tiny laundry room, that puts him in kissing distance. As luck would have it, I am a teacup-sized human that fell in love with a tree, so I have to do a little run-and-jump number to reach his mouth. I feel him yelp against my lips as the momentum sends us backward into the door. He jerks back. The only thing visible now is the metal rim of his glasses. “Holy shit,” he sounds breathless, “you meant, like right now.” “Mhm,” my lips are on his again, hands fumbling with his glasses. They’re promptly deposited on the dryer and then my hands are free. I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth. We’re breathing the same air. It’s hot and thick and I feel like I’m melting. His hands move down my sides at the same pace our mouths move against each other. They grip my hips and pull me flush against his body. I soak up his heat, shuddering because of how good it feels. Met with little resistance, I push my tongue into his mouth. Turns out I’d been right. His mouth had been full. From the taste of it: strawberry yogurt. Our tongues continue their game of tag while our hands get busy. I tug at his unruly curly hair and clench my fist into the fabric of his shirt. He responds with a satisfying moan that I devour like candy. His hands weave around to my ass and give it a squeeze, to which I respond with an un-arousing yip. With considerable effort, I tear my lips away. Shi chuckles. “Shut up.” I grumble and reach for the hem of his shirt. It’s a little damp now, what with his dry body pressed up against my not-dry one, but still slips over his head with ease. I toss it in the direction of the washing machine with no care where it ends up. My focus moves to his jaw, peppering kisses along the edge until I get to his ear. I bite his earlobe gently and run my fingers over his now bare chest. Shi’s hands end up on my breasts, and I know it’s because he was aiming for my shirt buttons and missed, but hell if I’m going to stop him. I hum in content and continue my trail of kisses down his neck, sucking right on the edge of his collar bone. Impatient, he grabs each side of my blouse and yanks. It comes flying open and I wiggle out of it immediately. If it’s ripped at all, I’ll kill him, but later. I swear he knows when my mind starts drifting, because as soon as I start thinking about sewing on new buttons, he grabs my hips and uses his whole body to push me up against the dryer. I slide my hands into his back pockets and his go straight for my bra. His fingers fumble at the back like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube, tugging on clasps that aren’t there. I pull his hands away. “Sports bra.” I say, pulling it over my head and tossing it into the unknown. He huffs like he’s been inconvenienced and I almost wish the light was on so he could see my glare. Before I can tell him he’s being a baby, his mouth is on one breast and his hand is on the other. Any coherent thought in my head fizzles into nonexistence. His fingers are roughed and calloused, complete contrast to my tender skin. His tongue darts over my nipple and I inhale sharply at the sensation. I brace my arms on the dryer, needing something to steady me because my mind is going a little fuzzy. I feel his dick against my knee, straining in the confines of his jeans. I move my leg up and down against it. He responds by taking my nipple between his teeth and pinching the other between his fingers. “Fuck,” I hiss, half elated and half annoyed. I will not be one-upped. All of a sudden, the pressure ceases and his lips are traveling down my stomach. I decide to go on the offensive, placing my hand flat against his chest and pushing as hard as I can. He makes some disgruntled noise as I hop off the dryer and push him back into the opposite wall. I kiss and bite at his chest (since that’s all I can reach) and fumble with his zipper. Just when I get it, his hands cup my face and he bends down, pulling my lips onto his. His thumbs run over my jaw and I let him turn my head ever so slightly to the side, allowing our tongues more access. With his jeans around his knees, I can feel his erection press against my naval. Grinning against his mouth, I slip my hand beneath his boxers. His whole body stiffens when I take him in my hand. To my surprise, he jerks back. “Your hands are really cold.” his voice is an octave higher than it should be. I blink for a second, not really processing, then groan and remove my hands. “Baby,” I mutter and return my lips to his chest. I feel his arms try something, but I grab him by the wrists and force them to his sides. The kisses travel down his chest and stomach, biting and sucking whenever I feel like it. When I reach the hem of his boxers, I let go of his hands and yank them down. The next few moments are interesting. I assume it’s right in front of my face, so I just lean forward with my lips parted. My nose ends up smushed against his hip bone. He laughs, “What are you doing?” I feel around with my hands, “Piss off, it’s dark.” Eventually I find his dick, moving my tongue along the shaft before taking his head in my mouth. Either my hands have warmed up or he’s stopped caring, because when I start stroking him, there’s no objection. I move back and forth, slowly at first, taking care to stop and run my tongue along his length. After a while his hand weaves around my neck and tugs on my hair. I take that as my cue to pick up the pace. As I suck, I move my tongue around his head, eliciting a moan. When he tells me he’s close, I almost pull back, then remember we don’t have any condoms in the laundry room. That’s needs to be amended. I keep going, hard and fast, until he cums in my mouth. When I pull away, I feel his muscles relax and hear his heavy breathing. I rise to my feet, slipping my arms around his middle. “Thanks, babe.” I say, planting a kiss in the center of his chest before flicking on the light. I hand him his glasses and he nearly trips, apparently forgetting that his pants are around his knees. “Anytime.” he says, trying to play it cool. He pulls his jeans back on while I throw mine into the washing machine. My boxers are damp and cling to my legs, but at least they’re not dripping. Shi tosses me a towel and I wrap it around my shoulders. He kisses my nose and slips into the kitchen. “You want some hot chocolate?” “Fuck yes.” I follow, already forgetting why I was mad in the first place.