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Fic: oh! i'm ready for it! (come on, bring it!) [due south, rayk/stella, NC-17]
OR: five times Stella surprised Ray (and Ray didn't mind at all)
Ray K/Stella (yes, het!)
NC-17 (...dirty het.)
1977 words
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pearl_o, who asked me to tell her a story. Is anyone surprised that this is the result? Beta thanks to pearl_o and the Incomparable A, who I'm dragging into fandom by inches. (Of cock.) Hopefully, this will make the Lusty Month Of May less inclined to be mean.
*
1.
It's not so much that people don't approve of Ray and Stella - her parents are actually pretty cool about it, and his are mostly worried that she's going to break his heart. They get a little shit from kids at school now and again, but Ray glares and Stella grins and it's all okay, in the end.
The thing that most people don't realize, though, is that Stella - well.
Stella is dirty.
She likes blowjobs; the more public, the better. She pins Ray up against the equipment shed, undoes his fly, and goes down on him there, her hands tight on his hips. He doesn't want to grab her hair, doesn't want to push, doesn't want to ask too much, but it's hard; he rests his hands on the side of shed, clenching them every time she inches forward, every time she pulls back.
(He has splinters in his fingertips, afterwards; he spends most of fourth period the next day picking them out.)
On the other side, the track team is jogging past; the one-two thump of their feet seems to beat in time with Ray's pulse. The sky above is endlessly blue, fluffy clouds in an early summer sky, Chicago at its finest. Ray could live this day forever - Stella, Chicago, just like this.
*
2.
She brings him back to her house, after school; her parents both work late, so they have the place pretty much to themselves. She drives - she always drives - and spends the entire time talking about school with her hand on the zipper of his jeans. He gets hard, of course, and starts pressing his hips up into her hand, warm and firm through the denim.
Stella just smiles, though, and tells him all about how Kelly Matthews talked back to Mr. Rassmussen, and got detention, and snuck out to go get burgers instead.
When they get there, Ray can barely even move, he's so turned on; he follows Stella up the driveway, glancing both ways, hoping like hell her neighbors aren't looking out their enormous windows.
Inside, she grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him down on the couch - she's always been stronger than people realize, all muscle and steel under pretty pink skirts.
Plus, Ray's not exactly struggling. He's not always too bright, but he's not stupid.
She unzips his pants while he's still sitting there staring up at her, and then just - lifts up her skirt and wiggles her hips and slides down on his cock, all the way down, warm and tight and wet and Jesus Christ, Stella.
"Mmmm," she says, like he's just told her he likes broccoli, like she's not sitting on his dick in the middle of her living room. She shifts a little, getting herself situated, and Ray feels like his head is going to explode from this, from how dirty it is, how hot, how insane.
Before he can get the words out, though, Stella starts moving for real, lifting up and then slamming back down, riding him fast and then faster, fucking his brains out on the leather couch her mother loves.
She's still wearing her shoes, even - Ray can feel them along the sides of his legs, little pink shoes, delicate and dainty, and for some reason that gets to him more than anything. She's still wearing her shoes, and her underwear are caught around one ankle, and his jeans are only just shoved down, not even as far as his knees. Her little flippy skirt is brushing against his thighs as she rises and falls, bracing against the back of the couch to drive back against him, driving him wild, driving him crazy -
- and then the door opens, and they hear her dad's voice from the other end of the house.
Stella - God, she clenches down around him and comes, head thrown back, groaning a little under her breath, and Ray, well. Ray's human, and plus he's a guy, so he comes, too, trying and failing not to grab her hips and fuck her hard.
He goes a little fuzzy around the edges, afterwards, floating along on a haze of just-fucked bliss, and only really comes back to the world when her dad walks into the room, briefcase in hand and tie hanging loose around his neck.
By that point, though, Stella's cleaned him up, zipped him up, and hidden her panties (he finds them later, stuffed in his jacket pocket). She's curled against his side, perfect and innocent, and her dad smiles down at them both.
3.
Another Stella Thing is the way she sometimes doesn't wear underwear. They'll be at her place, getting ready to go out, and she'll bend over to grab something from under her bed, flashing smooth, pink thigh all the way up her skirt, and Ray stares like the world's biggest idiot, not able to talk or think or even really breathe.
"Come on, Ray," she'll say, looking up at him, not even pretending not to smile. "We've got to get going."
Ray tries to put it out of his mind, he really does, and he even succeeds for a while, walking through the park like it's just any other day. The sun's shining, the breeze is blowing the birds are - well, they're probably singing, even if he can't hear them above the screaming kids on the playground.
Every time he starts to think about something else, though, it'll come back, like a neon sign with foot-high letters on the inside of Ray's eyelids: Stella Isn't Wearing Any Panties. And after that, Ray is just - his brain is gone, gone in no time at all. He spends the entire day half-hard and alternately miserable and elated.
Worst (or maybe best) are the times when they're out with people; usually her girlfriends and their boyfriends. She sits on his lap on the bus - they all do, it's the girlfriend-y draping thing, weird and territorial even when they're all giggling. On a No Panties Day, though, it's a million times better and worse: he's got a lapful of Stella, warm and pretty and smiling down at him and not wearing any panties, and he's got to sit there and listen to Dave and Chad talk about football and their fraternities.
They get off the bus before the others, and walk home through the alleys. Stella's laughing and talking, sparkling, alive; Ray is trying not to die. It's not really a surprise when she pauses at the alley behind the 7-11, a thoughtful glint in her eyes.
"Stell, no," he says, but then she's got his hand and is dragging him back into a boarded-up doorway, and he's not strong enough to resist that. He fucks her there, against the wall, his hands on her hips and her hands in his hair. She moans into his mouth the entire time, and bites his shoulder when she comes, digging her fingernails into his scalp.
Afterwards, they go inside, poke through the aisles of discount chips and years-old Twinkies. She leans up against his arm and flutters her eyelashes at him, and he can see right down her shirt, and - God, she's still not wearing any underwear, and he really can't forget that.
He buys her a Slurpee - cherry, of course.
4.
The Majestic shows old musicals for a dollar every evening, during the summer. They've gone to see every single one, most of them more than once, and Ray couldn't tell you the plot of a single one. He's good for the first few minutes, usually, but as soon as the singing starts, the only thing he can focus on is Stella's hand, wrapped warm and tight around his cock, and her voice in his ear, low and flirty in the flickering dark.
Not, again, that Ray is in any way complaining.
5.
It's not so much that Stella has a vibrator that surprises him. It makes sense - Stella is a Modern Woman, totally capable of taking care of herself, so of course she has what it takes to get herself off when he can't come over.
It's not even that she lets him see it - that's a little surprising, but they don't really have secrets for each other. Besides, Stella's dirty, like that's even news at this point.
She likes him to use it on her, sliding it in and out while he goes down on her. Ray loves it, loves being between Stella's thighs, feeling the muscles tense and shiver against his head. He loves to taste her, warm and wet and smelling like girl all around him, loves watching her twist and arch around shining, slick metal, moaning his name every second breath. He likes being able to do this for her, make her come apart again and again, make her twist and tremble and swear like a sailor whenever she can get enough air in her lungs to talk.
He likes making her not be able to talk.
The thing about Stella is, though, that it just gets her more cranked up. She doesn't conk out after one orgasm, or after three, or even after - in one marathon afternoon that Ray still sometimes dreams about - eleven. She just breathes harder and turns bright, bright red, and then sits up, eyes wide and frantic, and gets Ray to move, too, on his hands and knees on the bed.
Ray, watching her breasts rise and fall, is only too willing to agree. Of course, once he's flipped over, he can't actually see her breasts any more - but then she's behind him, draped over him, bare breasts against his back, and talking the whole time about how he's so hot, how he makes her so hot, fuck, Ray.
Her hands are low on his back, and then lower - but, yeah, okay, it's cool. They've done this before, because Stella's blowjobs are dirty, right? and when they aren't where someone could hear or see, she gets creative. So she slides her fingers in, and that's cool, and she even licks a little, which makes Ray's stomach flip a little, makes his eyes roll back in his head.
"Fuck," he gasps, "Stella, God, fuck." She moves away, and he figures she's going for a condom, going to wiggle underneath him and wrap her legs around his hips, but instead - instead, it's this slick, blunt pressure against his ass, Stella's hand rubbing soothingly along his thigh.
It's not much bigger than fingers, but smooth and slick and it just keeps going on, in and in and in and then out and in again. Ray spreads his legs and let his head fall down, and, yeah, moans a little - it feels amazing, this slow, aching glide. He can barely tell the in from the out, even, except when she shoves it in a little further, just like that, so that beyond feeling full, there's fireworks going off behind his eyes.
He groans her name, and she does it again, and again, and again, until she's fucking him with that, with her vibrator, fucking him into the bed until his knees are giving out and his eyes are blurry, giving it to him hard and fast and relentless, until the only three words in the English language are fuck and please and Stella.
Eventually, it's too much - just enough - and Ray gasps and twitches and comes on her pretty pink bedspread, collapses right on top of it with his arms and legs going everywhere. Stella's hand is on his back, petting him gently, and Ray closes his eyes and focuses on breathing.
Afterwards, when they're cuddling, she points out that they need to get something bigger, "and maybe a harness, Ray - what do you think about that?"
Ray just buries his head against her breasts and moans, because -
- well, really. What else can he do?
*
I am a terrible, terrible person, and should probably never be let out of the house again. This was, no lie, the only thing I could think about in class today.
OKAY SO: If you know where the title comes from - look, I really am sorry, but it had to be done, and I think that if you consider the matter seriously, you'll come to agree with me.
And if you don't know where the title's from, well, consider yourself a fortunate soul, and please for the love of all that's good and holy don't go find out. Seriously. I promise that you will be happier this way, and you will love me more. (brooklinegirl, THIS MEANS YOU.)
Ray K/Stella (yes, het!)
NC-17 (...dirty het.)
1977 words
Written for
pearl_o, who asked me to tell her a story. Is anyone surprised that this is the result? Beta thanks to pearl_o and the Incomparable A, who I'm dragging into fandom by inches. (Of cock.) Hopefully, this will make the Lusty Month Of May less inclined to be mean.*
1.
It's not so much that people don't approve of Ray and Stella - her parents are actually pretty cool about it, and his are mostly worried that she's going to break his heart. They get a little shit from kids at school now and again, but Ray glares and Stella grins and it's all okay, in the end.
The thing that most people don't realize, though, is that Stella - well.
Stella is dirty.
She likes blowjobs; the more public, the better. She pins Ray up against the equipment shed, undoes his fly, and goes down on him there, her hands tight on his hips. He doesn't want to grab her hair, doesn't want to push, doesn't want to ask too much, but it's hard; he rests his hands on the side of shed, clenching them every time she inches forward, every time she pulls back.
(He has splinters in his fingertips, afterwards; he spends most of fourth period the next day picking them out.)
On the other side, the track team is jogging past; the one-two thump of their feet seems to beat in time with Ray's pulse. The sky above is endlessly blue, fluffy clouds in an early summer sky, Chicago at its finest. Ray could live this day forever - Stella, Chicago, just like this.
*
2.
She brings him back to her house, after school; her parents both work late, so they have the place pretty much to themselves. She drives - she always drives - and spends the entire time talking about school with her hand on the zipper of his jeans. He gets hard, of course, and starts pressing his hips up into her hand, warm and firm through the denim.
Stella just smiles, though, and tells him all about how Kelly Matthews talked back to Mr. Rassmussen, and got detention, and snuck out to go get burgers instead.
When they get there, Ray can barely even move, he's so turned on; he follows Stella up the driveway, glancing both ways, hoping like hell her neighbors aren't looking out their enormous windows.
Inside, she grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him down on the couch - she's always been stronger than people realize, all muscle and steel under pretty pink skirts.
Plus, Ray's not exactly struggling. He's not always too bright, but he's not stupid.
She unzips his pants while he's still sitting there staring up at her, and then just - lifts up her skirt and wiggles her hips and slides down on his cock, all the way down, warm and tight and wet and Jesus Christ, Stella.
"Mmmm," she says, like he's just told her he likes broccoli, like she's not sitting on his dick in the middle of her living room. She shifts a little, getting herself situated, and Ray feels like his head is going to explode from this, from how dirty it is, how hot, how insane.
Before he can get the words out, though, Stella starts moving for real, lifting up and then slamming back down, riding him fast and then faster, fucking his brains out on the leather couch her mother loves.
She's still wearing her shoes, even - Ray can feel them along the sides of his legs, little pink shoes, delicate and dainty, and for some reason that gets to him more than anything. She's still wearing her shoes, and her underwear are caught around one ankle, and his jeans are only just shoved down, not even as far as his knees. Her little flippy skirt is brushing against his thighs as she rises and falls, bracing against the back of the couch to drive back against him, driving him wild, driving him crazy -
- and then the door opens, and they hear her dad's voice from the other end of the house.
Stella - God, she clenches down around him and comes, head thrown back, groaning a little under her breath, and Ray, well. Ray's human, and plus he's a guy, so he comes, too, trying and failing not to grab her hips and fuck her hard.
He goes a little fuzzy around the edges, afterwards, floating along on a haze of just-fucked bliss, and only really comes back to the world when her dad walks into the room, briefcase in hand and tie hanging loose around his neck.
By that point, though, Stella's cleaned him up, zipped him up, and hidden her panties (he finds them later, stuffed in his jacket pocket). She's curled against his side, perfect and innocent, and her dad smiles down at them both.
3.
Another Stella Thing is the way she sometimes doesn't wear underwear. They'll be at her place, getting ready to go out, and she'll bend over to grab something from under her bed, flashing smooth, pink thigh all the way up her skirt, and Ray stares like the world's biggest idiot, not able to talk or think or even really breathe.
"Come on, Ray," she'll say, looking up at him, not even pretending not to smile. "We've got to get going."
Ray tries to put it out of his mind, he really does, and he even succeeds for a while, walking through the park like it's just any other day. The sun's shining, the breeze is blowing the birds are - well, they're probably singing, even if he can't hear them above the screaming kids on the playground.
Every time he starts to think about something else, though, it'll come back, like a neon sign with foot-high letters on the inside of Ray's eyelids: Stella Isn't Wearing Any Panties. And after that, Ray is just - his brain is gone, gone in no time at all. He spends the entire day half-hard and alternately miserable and elated.
Worst (or maybe best) are the times when they're out with people; usually her girlfriends and their boyfriends. She sits on his lap on the bus - they all do, it's the girlfriend-y draping thing, weird and territorial even when they're all giggling. On a No Panties Day, though, it's a million times better and worse: he's got a lapful of Stella, warm and pretty and smiling down at him and not wearing any panties, and he's got to sit there and listen to Dave and Chad talk about football and their fraternities.
They get off the bus before the others, and walk home through the alleys. Stella's laughing and talking, sparkling, alive; Ray is trying not to die. It's not really a surprise when she pauses at the alley behind the 7-11, a thoughtful glint in her eyes.
"Stell, no," he says, but then she's got his hand and is dragging him back into a boarded-up doorway, and he's not strong enough to resist that. He fucks her there, against the wall, his hands on her hips and her hands in his hair. She moans into his mouth the entire time, and bites his shoulder when she comes, digging her fingernails into his scalp.
Afterwards, they go inside, poke through the aisles of discount chips and years-old Twinkies. She leans up against his arm and flutters her eyelashes at him, and he can see right down her shirt, and - God, she's still not wearing any underwear, and he really can't forget that.
He buys her a Slurpee - cherry, of course.
4.
The Majestic shows old musicals for a dollar every evening, during the summer. They've gone to see every single one, most of them more than once, and Ray couldn't tell you the plot of a single one. He's good for the first few minutes, usually, but as soon as the singing starts, the only thing he can focus on is Stella's hand, wrapped warm and tight around his cock, and her voice in his ear, low and flirty in the flickering dark.
Not, again, that Ray is in any way complaining.
5.
It's not so much that Stella has a vibrator that surprises him. It makes sense - Stella is a Modern Woman, totally capable of taking care of herself, so of course she has what it takes to get herself off when he can't come over.
It's not even that she lets him see it - that's a little surprising, but they don't really have secrets for each other. Besides, Stella's dirty, like that's even news at this point.
She likes him to use it on her, sliding it in and out while he goes down on her. Ray loves it, loves being between Stella's thighs, feeling the muscles tense and shiver against his head. He loves to taste her, warm and wet and smelling like girl all around him, loves watching her twist and arch around shining, slick metal, moaning his name every second breath. He likes being able to do this for her, make her come apart again and again, make her twist and tremble and swear like a sailor whenever she can get enough air in her lungs to talk.
He likes making her not be able to talk.
The thing about Stella is, though, that it just gets her more cranked up. She doesn't conk out after one orgasm, or after three, or even after - in one marathon afternoon that Ray still sometimes dreams about - eleven. She just breathes harder and turns bright, bright red, and then sits up, eyes wide and frantic, and gets Ray to move, too, on his hands and knees on the bed.
Ray, watching her breasts rise and fall, is only too willing to agree. Of course, once he's flipped over, he can't actually see her breasts any more - but then she's behind him, draped over him, bare breasts against his back, and talking the whole time about how he's so hot, how he makes her so hot, fuck, Ray.
Her hands are low on his back, and then lower - but, yeah, okay, it's cool. They've done this before, because Stella's blowjobs are dirty, right? and when they aren't where someone could hear or see, she gets creative. So she slides her fingers in, and that's cool, and she even licks a little, which makes Ray's stomach flip a little, makes his eyes roll back in his head.
"Fuck," he gasps, "Stella, God, fuck." She moves away, and he figures she's going for a condom, going to wiggle underneath him and wrap her legs around his hips, but instead - instead, it's this slick, blunt pressure against his ass, Stella's hand rubbing soothingly along his thigh.
It's not much bigger than fingers, but smooth and slick and it just keeps going on, in and in and in and then out and in again. Ray spreads his legs and let his head fall down, and, yeah, moans a little - it feels amazing, this slow, aching glide. He can barely tell the in from the out, even, except when she shoves it in a little further, just like that, so that beyond feeling full, there's fireworks going off behind his eyes.
He groans her name, and she does it again, and again, and again, until she's fucking him with that, with her vibrator, fucking him into the bed until his knees are giving out and his eyes are blurry, giving it to him hard and fast and relentless, until the only three words in the English language are fuck and please and Stella.
Eventually, it's too much - just enough - and Ray gasps and twitches and comes on her pretty pink bedspread, collapses right on top of it with his arms and legs going everywhere. Stella's hand is on his back, petting him gently, and Ray closes his eyes and focuses on breathing.
Afterwards, when they're cuddling, she points out that they need to get something bigger, "and maybe a harness, Ray - what do you think about that?"
Ray just buries his head against her breasts and moans, because -
- well, really. What else can he do?
*
I am a terrible, terrible person, and should probably never be let out of the house again. This was, no lie, the only thing I could think about in class today.
OKAY SO: If you know where the title comes from - look, I really am sorry, but it had to be done, and I think that if you consider the matter seriously, you'll come to agree with me.
And if you don't know where the title's from, well, consider yourself a fortunate soul, and please for the love of all that's good and holy don't go find out. Seriously. I promise that you will be happier this way, and you will love me more. (
brooklinegirl, THIS MEANS YOU.)