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A research conference. Three days. Crowds of blue collars, fifty conversations Lightning couldn’t follow, and too many bright lights, but at least Hope was there. Lightning had come here primarily for him; more than her curiosity as to what happened at these things, sleeping alone all weekend had a distinct lack of appeal. As it turned out, not much to her surprise, research conferences were just the thing that could fry her brain. The hotel was fancy, though, and a carnivore’s wet dream of a dinner had helped her recover. A bubble bath and an expensive drink topped off the evening. All things considered, Lightning felt good.
When she left the bathroom in nothing but a cushy robe, Hope was right where she’d left him: on the couch, in matching attire, sorting the heap of booklets, pamphlets, memoirs, and other printed materials he’d picked up or been insistently gifted throughout the day. He looked so serious with his lips pressed together as he placed a business card into one stack and then a paperclip-bound abstract into another. The robe was a bit loose on him and left his collarbone exposed, contemplating whether to slide off his shoulders.
He really was distractingly handsome.
Lightning searched for something witty to say as she sauntered to the couch. Some quip about his undying diligence, or something suggestive to get him into bed so he could attend the much more important task of spooning her. She ultimately came up short on words and merely situated herself on his lap.
Hope dropped the sheet of paper he’d picked up seconds prior and met her gaze with an easy smile. “That smells nice. Peaches and cream?”
“Mhm,” Lightning hummed. “Bet they formulated that soap just to make people want dessert.”
“You might be on to something. The room service menu has what, four pages of pastries?”
Lightning yawned. “Something like that. But my sweets are right here.” She pressed her lips into Hope’s cheek and took her time pulling away, as if it would delay the embarrassment she’d brought on herself with such a corny line. And to her further embarrassment, it had apparently worked. A telltale tinge of red colored Hope’s cheeks and his widened eyes fluttered about the room until they landed back on hers.
“Sorry, that just caught me off guard. Not in a bad way, of course. I just, I’m a little—or rather, my mind is a little slow after all of the… uh…”
Hope trailed off with a vague hand gesture and decided to shut himself up, to Lightning’s amusement. She caressed his unkissed cheek and traced the corner of his mouth with her finger as she pulled her hand away. “Let’s get to bed. They’re kicking us out at eleven, right?”
Hope stared a little longer before releasing a quiet exhale through his pretty, parted lips. “Right.” He stood up once Lightning did, and the robe finally slipped off his shoulders. It was an easy fix for Hope, just a couple of tugs, but the tiny mishap had reinforced a fact that lingered in the back of Lightning’s mind:
Hope was in his underwear under that robe, if not completely naked. It wasn’t terribly late. Eleven wasn’t that early, either. And it had been a while…
Lightning contemplated as they pulled back the covers and sank into warm, luxurious comfort. If her decision didn’t come quickly, they’d both be blissfully dreaming in no time at all. They both needed it after all that walking and talking and listening and watching and scanning and applauding and, on occasion, stiffly posing for photos.
Yes, they ought to just sleep. Lightning touched the top of the headboard to turn off the lights, maneuvered to Hope’s side of the bed where she’d end up anyway, and rolled onto her side. In turn, Hope turned to face the same direction, pulled their bodies flush, and placed a kiss at the base of her neck. It was a familiar, comfortable position. Perfect for rest.
Uneventful, restorative, sleep.
…
Oh, what the hell?
Lightning turned over and stretched her arm to turn the lights back on. Hope squinted up at her. “Forget something?”
She grabbed his chin, firm but not forceful. “Depends. How tired are you?”
Hope’s eyes roamed over her face as the cogs spun and the pieces of her vague implication fit into place. He swallowed and pushed himself up with an obvious eagerness, resting his back against the headboard.
“I am wide awake.”
That was a lie—his movements had run out of that giddy, nerdy energy the previous day—but he was so deliciously adorable. Kissing him was no longer just a temptation but an obligation. Lightning rose to her knees and straddled him with scarcely a moment’s notice. She took his lips once, then thrice more, each kiss slower yet more fervent. The air whistled as he breathed in, and sang low each time he exhaled against her lips. Kissing him was so easy—him and his enviably soft lips. At least she could feel them whenever she pleased.
Hope’s hands found their place on her hips and felt around for the shape of her body through the robe’s fluff. He succeeding in inadvertently striking her rear, though far too lightly for any real effect. Lightning let out an airy laugh and reached down to untie the loose knot keeping Hope’s robe closed. She pushed the two sides as far apart as their position would allow, exposing his torso and, with some additional tugging, his briefs.
Lightning traced the hem with her finger, paused, and smirked at Hope. There was no particular meaning behind it, aside from a growing hunger for some manner of mischief. Her hand dropped below Hope’s waist, open and eager to repeat their song and dance on a new stage. Hope flinched at the touch of her fingers tracing his shape through cotton. She repeated the movement with her palm and a little bit of pressure. Hope’s legs shifted the tiniest bit in response, and his heavy eyelids were all too quick to shut. There was something entrancing about his reactions to her touch, from the minute breaths to the shuddering, white-knuckled howls. Even thinking about those moments of heightened pleasure made Lightning’s blood rush. She continued her caresses in pursuit of those small treasures, those beautiful sights and sounds.
Hope, seemingly hard-wired to seek out Lightning pleasure, cautiously pulled the top of her robe open, as if it—or she—were at all delicate. His touch on her breasts was even lighter, like he was handling a museum piece or some fragile relic. He looked up at her, low light painting him something ethereal.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
That damned saccharine sincerity. Lightning sighed. “That’s my line.” She stole another kiss and hooked two fingers under Hope’s briefs, a light tug cueing him to help her out. Hope lifted his hips, wriggling until his member was freed. In doing so, however, he’d braced against her, his gentle grip strengthening into a rough grope.
“Light— Sorry! Are you hurt?”
“Relax,” Lightning said with her honed-steel sternness before easing her tone. “If I were hurt, I’d tell you.” She took him between her thumb and forefinger and repeated, in a whisper, “Relax.”
Hope exhaled, slumping slightly. “Right. I remember how you like it.”
Lightning moved her fingers up, base to tip, and began a calm, deliberate rhythm of strokes. Hope’s fingers found her nipples, mindlessly rubbing as he did little else but bury his face into her shoulder.
“You really are tired,” Lightning observed. “We’ll get you off and go to sleep. For real, this time.”
“And leave you hanging?” Hope said, indignation sharp through any drowsiness. “Not happening.”
“Cute how you think that’s your decision,” Lightning quipped back, even sharper.
That did it. Hope shut right up save for a strained whine as he dampened Lightning’s hand with a light secretion and a heavy thrust of his hips. With a pleased smirk, Lightning lent her palm to her effort and wrapped her hand fully around him. Hope took to using her chest instead of her shoulder as a far more comfortable pillow, thanking her with a flurry of kisses upon both breasts. Fine. She could allow that much. Even if the breaths against her skin and their accompanying noises were well on their way to weakening her judgement.
“Good,” Lightning crooned. She scratched his scalp with her free hand and combed through his ever-soft hair; it carried the scent of something difficult to describe beyond sweet and clean. Like Hope. Hope was sweet. Hope was clean, however stained he thought his soul to be. And he was hers.
“Hope.” Lightning paused, rubbed his head with two fingers, and slid her hand back down to grasp him again. Hope continued to thrust into her hand, any hint of shame buried in her chest.
“Yes?”
“You’re mine.”
“I am.”
Lightning indulged him with the strong, moderately quick strokes he liked, the motions she used when she had had her fun teasing and wanted nothing more than to bring him to a crest. As if giving thanks, Hope indulged her with his voice—whimpers for her ears only and her name falling from his lips.
Wet heat spilled over Lightning's hand, sparing their robes. Mostly. Hope fell back against the headboard and stared dazedly for a good three seconds before sheepishness kicked in. His gaze shot down, which only resulted in him looking at Lightning’s semen-painted hand and the culprit sticking out of his boxers.
“I um, thank you,” Hope said quietly.
Lightning sighed. He really did drive her crazy, in the sense of making her want to stay up until dawn committing acts of sodomy. In spite of this, she spoke as gently as she could manage. “Any time.” She touched her lips to his forehead and inhaled the scent of his hair again. What was that? Lemon… cake? Whatever it was, it was motivation enough for her to take another look at that room service menu in the morning. But for now, sleep.
Seriously.