[This isn't precisely how Quentin planned for this to go, what little plan he had. He wanted to sit back, use his mind to make her squirm and moan and—preferably—scream as long as he could before they were both couldn't think of anything else but how their bodies would feel moving against each other. Turns out that just took a lot less time than he originally considered. He doesn't know what that says about them, and for the aforementioned reason he is not remotely in a headspace to bother with pondering it. Nope, his brain has other priorities right now, like pumping his body full of feel-good hormones that make him need her like oxygen.
His hips buck roughly up when the imaginary version of himself she's conjuring delivers a particularly nice thrust, and the only thing between them and that reality is some stupid fabric. The hands on her waist slide downward inside the waistband of her lingerie shorts and over her ass in a facsimile of her fantasy, and it would be so, so easy to just tear off their clothes and do exactly what she wants. He did ask her to tell him. Well, demand, more like. Sophie seems to like it when he demands.
It would be so easy, and he knows it would be so damn good, but it also just doesn't... feel right. He pulls away from her mouth again to talk out loud, voice shaky and out of breath but firm. Confident. Or at least as confident as he's gonna get.]
Clothes off. Lie down. [Quentin hesitates, just for a fraction of a second.] On your stomach.
[He's going off script here, as well as kind of throwing away all his insistence that she tell him what she wants. Oh well. He's doing what he wants, and somehow he doesn't think Sophie is going to have too many complaints.]
no subject
His hips buck roughly up when the imaginary version of himself she's conjuring delivers a particularly nice thrust, and the only thing between them and that reality is some stupid fabric. The hands on her waist slide downward inside the waistband of her lingerie shorts and over her ass in a facsimile of her fantasy, and it would be so, so easy to just tear off their clothes and do exactly what she wants. He did ask her to tell him. Well, demand, more like. Sophie seems to like it when he demands.
It would be so easy, and he knows it would be so damn good, but it also just doesn't... feel right. He pulls away from her mouth again to talk out loud, voice shaky and out of breath but firm. Confident. Or at least as confident as he's gonna get.]
Clothes off. Lie down. [Quentin hesitates, just for a fraction of a second.] On your stomach.
[He's going off script here, as well as kind of throwing away all his insistence that she tell him what she wants. Oh well. He's doing what he wants, and somehow he doesn't think Sophie is going to have too many complaints.]