For Scripps, Dated 12/31

[madeofstories]

Grace very distinctly remembers the events of New Years Eve one year ago.

Dressed up in clothes from another era, they all rang in the new year in a way that she can only describe as magical. And Grace's last moments of the previous year were spent with someone she didn't anticipate would be as near and dear to her heart now as he is.

This year, they've been plunged into a different place altogether, one that Grace has found equally as magical as the month has worn on. And tonight, it feels as if there is magic in the air all over again, as Grace pulls her scarf more snugly around her neck. She's waiting in Times Square, where she's supposed to be meeting Scripps tonight, but so far, she hasn't spotted him.

Perhaps she should have been a bit more specific as to which corner she'd be nearest to.

Comments

[turnedtoproust]

"I love you too," he replies with great sincerity and fondness, kissing her firmly as he eases back long enough to remember that they're going to need some form of protection and is grateful, really, for the fact that Dakin is apparently a presumptuous and perfect idiot, because when he's shedding his trousers, he finds a condom there.

There'll have to be words about that later. "Do you want to help? Or should I..."

[madeofstories]

"I can... if you'd like," Grace says, sitting up, and she takes the packet from him and tears it open with shaking fingers. She knows there's nothing to be nervous about, but she still has to keep reminding herself, even as she takes him in her hand.

[turnedtoproust]

He flashes a brief smile, unable to help himself. It's nervewracking, but at the same time he is beyond pleased that they're in this situation. "I'll lie back?" he suggests, a tremor in his voice that he tries to shake off with good cheer.

[madeofstories]

"I think that's a good idea," she replies softly, her sentence coming out as half a laugh. Grace sits up and moves over so that she can straddle him once he's taken her place against the pillows. Perhaps it will be easier to about it this way.

[turnedtoproust]

He shifts until his shoulders press against the fabric of the bed, easing one hand to her hip to try and guide her as best as he can. This is hardly the sort of thing he studies on a daily basis, but it's an education he's aware he's been putting off -- something he wants to know about, despite all the nerves. "Tell me if I'm doing something wrong," he says. "And I'll see what I can do about fixing it."

[madeofstories]

"You're doing fine," Grace says, and the condom on, she lifts her hips so that she can ease herself down and onto him. She's only done it this way once, and that was over a year ago now. She bites on her lower lip and her eyes shut as she tries to get used to the feel of him.

[turnedtoproust]

He inhales sharply, his breath catching when she sinks down onto him. Fuck, but maybe Dakin's had a point all along about him practically exploding the moment something happens. As it is, his fingers tremble as he clasps at the bedsheets around him. "Oh, fuck," he manages, all of his poetry flying out the window along with all his sense, leaving him stammering and stymied with sex.

[madeofstories]

She moves slowly, both for her own benefit and because she's hoping to not overwhelm him. She's tried to keep her expectations for tonight realistic, but that doesn't mean that she won't do all that she can to make sure this can work for both of them.

"Are... are you okay?" she asks, though words are more difficult than she thought they'd be.

[turnedtoproust]

"Bit speechless," he manages, still looking shellshocked at the notion that after all the preparations and the words and the poetry, none of it comes to him now. He's been abandoned and left to fend for himself, sensation alone. He blinks the disbelief from his eyes to stare up at her fondly. "Nothing you need worry about," he gets out, words taking longer to form. "It's -- this is...very good."

[madeofstories]

"...good," she says, and the word comes out as half a breathless laugh. She doesn't think that she's ever known Donald to be speechless over anything. She can be sure that he has a relevant quote or verse for virtually any place he finds himself. This is, apparently, the exception.

Grace reaches out for his hand, even though she can't quite make it to where they're gripping the bedsheet. She starts so ask if he'll place one on her hip instead, but the words come out as a moan that is altogether undistinguished.

[turnedtoproust]

He exhales in one sharp breath and tries to follow where her hand is guiding his. He thinks it might be the hip, but he overestimates and slides it up the torso first, the crook of his knuckles brushing against soft, warm skin. He takes sincere pleasure in the way she moves when she breathes and how his hand responds.

It's more beautiful than he ever thought sex would give chance to provide. "Oh, Grace," he murmurs fondly.

[madeofstories]

The hand at her side works just as well, and she leans into it a bit as she rocks against him, looking for a bit more balance. Grace has spent years learning to balance on just the tips of her toes, so this should come easy. Unfortunately, that's not quite how things work.

"Oh god," she cries as she rocks against him. And when she reaches for his hand, she wonders whether or not she has stolen his line.

[turnedtoproust]

He falters back, trying to keep his head up and his attention on Grace, he wants to watch her. This is his first time, he wants to have a mental image that he can hold onto as long as he can. "Grace," he murmurs again, amazed and wondrous. "This is...you make me feel..."

So good.

[madeofstories]

Grace is lost in him and it's wonderful, the sound of her name on his lips so lovely that she thinks her heart may burst. She wishes that she could live and breathe this moment forever.

"Donald," she calls quietly, and she's almost there, but doesn't want this to end just yet.

[turnedtoproust]

He almost feels like he ought to bestow the name on her. No one else uses it quite at all these days, but the way she says it makes him want to selfishly decide that no one else can use it. "Yeah?" he whispers back, eyes wide and filled with desire and delight.

[madeofstories]

"Donald, I think I'm going to..." she says, and cuts her own sentence short when she hits a particularly pleasing spot, mouth falling open in a quiet cry. Grace's initial worry had been that he might be the one to be finished too quickly, but it seems as if she may end up the one who cuts things short without wanting to.

[turnedtoproust]

How he's managed to outlast her, he'll never know. Maybe after all those days on his knees with God, his prayers are finally being answered. Or maybe, maybe, watching her give in to pleasure is what his body needs before he, too, crumples and gives in to nothing but pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of everything at once.

"Fuck!" he blurts out, once more, this time awed and spent.

[madeofstories]

When it hits her, her legs buckle and she very nearly tips over and falls off of the bed as she calls out his name again. Her heart is racing and her head is swimming and it's all more lovely than she ever though it'd be.

Grace is left atop him for a long moment as she catches her breath, and she's finding it difficult to contain a pleased smile.

[turnedtoproust]

He reaches for her out of a need and habit, always needing her to be close to him. He wraps his arms tighter around her waist and buries his face into her torso, breathing in and letting the world around him vanish as his thighs quiver from the strain of his current position.

[madeofstories]

Grace rolls off to lie next to him on the bed, wanting to be closer to him than is possible when she's still all the way up there. He's warm and smells amazing, and even if it's the same way Donald always smells, it's made all the more wonderful and special because of tonight.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps shifts onto his side, one arm wrapped around her waist. "This isn't awkward, is it?" he murmurs. "You don't want me to go shower off before I come back to bed?" This is the first time and he's not really eager to fuck it all up because of how they ended it.

[madeofstories]

"It's okay," Grace says, and she laughs softly as she lies against him. Grace doesn't even want to think about moving at the moment, content to stay there for ages, clinging to the last bits of pleasure.

"And don't you dare go anywhere," she says, and tips her head up just a bit so that she can press a soft kiss to his chin.

[turnedtoproust]

"I wouldn't dare," he swears to her, wishing that he could sign it in blood to really show her how serious he is. "Honest," he whispers, bowing his forehead down and adjusting so that she's as close to him as physically is possible.

[madeofstories]

"Perfect," she says, and even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to move the grin from her face. Grace is absolutely where she wants to be right now, completely happy.

"Do you feel any different?" she asks.

[turnedtoproust]

"Bit sore," he admits, with a sheepish grin. "I'm glad that I got to do it with you," Scripps says, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And I hope to do it again with you, and again. And then possibly again."