Henry x Eileen sexytiemz :'D
I'm not sure what to title this XD any help is appreciated.
It was one of those moments where Henry wanted to say “I love you” or “Marry me” or at least “You're important”. But he didn't. He didn't say anything.
And so was the nature of their relationship. Something monumentally sweet would be done by her hand, she would smile, and he would smile and say nothing. Henry Townshend was a man of few words, which he was sure Eileen knew, but what surprised him was that she didn't seem to mind. He had always figured Eileen to be the kind of girl who liked chatty men, who liked constant conversation and the kind of companionship where every thought, every feeling, could be shared in words and everything would be talked out spectacularly. As it turned out, she normally was, and it was absolutely beyond him why he was her exception. He could never understand it, no matter how long he spent puzzling.
Not only was he an exception. Henry was surprised to find, in the months after Walter Sullivan's death, that she even seemed to like the quiet times they spent together. It seemed she drew some pleasure from simply sitting and looking at him and letting their bond grow without words. He supposed, honestly, they did not need words; they had seen things together that went beyond words, and it had instilled between them an unspoken closeness that existed even before that first awkward coffee date, that first playful kiss she stole from him while they were shielded from the rain in the foyer of their mutual favorite bookstore.
They did talk, of course. Often they would stay up until the sun started to rise locked in some deep, philosophical discussion (Eileen was much more intelligent than she came off as), and fall asleep still murmuring to each other, nestled in the blankets on whose ever bed or sofa they happened to be on at the time. So it was not as though they did not have conversations; they did, wonderful ones. Henry enjoyed them, loved the way Eileen kept him engaged and had so much to contribute to the conversation with her quick wit and often crazy ideas about the way the world should work. But so much of their relationship was built on a quiet understanding, on moments when speech would have been necessary for any other couple, but not for them. Eileen seemed to enjoy the silent way he would kiss her neck, his hands moving with a careful slowness across her body, quietly asking for her to give herself to him without words. Amazingly enough she always did.
Eileen was an almost frighteningly passionate person, and it never failed to light a fire inside of him how she was so wholly willing to give every part of herself to him, to let their bodies and passions entwine until he swore they would burst. It was impossible to tell from having an ordinary conversation with him, but Henry was an irrepressibly passionate person as well, and so their dynamic worked perfectly. In everyday interaction they were both rather mild people, Henry with his quiet awkwardness and Eileen with her kind vivacity, and so behind closed doors their transformation was rather unexpected. They became almost like animals, burning with a fire for each other that Henry would never have imagined upon that first official meeting in the hospital (he preferred not to think that the awkward, barely-speaking times before that even counted).
“Hmm... Henry...” Eileen whispered slightly hoarsely, her eyes closed and her expression wonderfully relaxed. Henry's lips were pressed lightly against her throat as one of his hands worked gently on her exquisite left breast, and he was watching her face for clues as to what she wanted. She was a wonderfully emotive person, and her emotions and reactions were like an open book, especially during this kind of situation, giving him plenty of suggestions without saying a word. This was how he liked it best, reading her body like a book, pulling reactions out of her that he didn't even know she was capable of. Eileen had a magnificent body, and Henry enjoyed looking at it. He had always been more of a quiet spectator, and so naturally his eyes did more than his hands, but not with Eileen. He couldn't help touching her even as he watched her raptly, as though he could drink in the sight of her like sustenance. “You're so wonderful.”
Henry didn't respond because he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He tried to show her, instead, and as a result his motions became slightly frantic and Eileen responded even more feverishly, gasping lightly as Henry's other hand slid down her body, finding the curve of her hips, the soft freckle-dusted skin of her inner thigh, so much slow passion put into the touches that Henry was honestly surprised his fingertips weren't emitting sparks.
“Henry...” she whispered again, her breathing more labored this time as his hand slid slowly between her legs, his nimble fingertips stroking at the folds of her moist center. His fingers moved slowly, exploring her and listening to the subtle changes in the tiny sounds she made. He loved the way her hips jerked toward him as his fingertips found the center of her pleasure there and stroked it. He loved the way her back arched upward, as though her body was asking for him without her brain or voice's consent. He loved the way his name left her lips once more, heavy, lustful, entirely not like the more demure Eileen he knew outside of the bedroom. Something about this transformation made him tremble slightly, aroused. He loved everything about this moment, the things Eileen did and the way she made him feel, but he wasn't entirely certain how to put his feelings into words. And so with his fingers he touched her more intensely, closing his fingers around her hardening bud and pinching it gently. Eileen squirmed a bit, a soft gasp escaping through her soft pink lips.
“Henry,” she whispered again, and it lit a fire inside of him all over again.
“Eileen,” he whispered back, hoarsely, as she leaned up on her elbows and kissed him. He could taste the sweetness of some sort of nameless candy-flavored lipgloss on his tongue as she ravaged his mouth with much less gentleness than one would assume, looking at her in a more conventional situation. Henry's unoccupied hand came up to her shoulder, pulling her closer, his arm wrapping around her as his lower hand continued its ministrations. He kissed her back, feeding off of the almost insane fire, the furious passion she reserved solely for him that he had never imagined anyone would even dream of feeling toward a man like Henry Townshend.
Eileen's hands pressed gently against his bare chest, caressing him there as she kissed him. Henry had been with plenty of women in this way before Eileen, there was no point in denying that. But he had never been with a woman who seemed to appreciate his body nearly as much as Eileen did, and it was a bit flattering the way her hands always spent so much time touching him, caressing and feeling and telling him that she loved him without saying a word. He could not honestly say with certainty that he had ever been loved before, and that just made it all the sweeter. Currently Eileen's hands had trailed down his chest, down to the flat muscles of his stomach, and were now fumbling with the button on his pants. He could imagine how it would be difficult to accomplish while kissing him and being pleasured all at once, and gently he pushed her hands back up to his stomach and undid the button for her.
“You're such a gentleman, Henry,” she said softly, and he stared back, his hand pausing momentarily, until she giggled and kissed him again. “Not much for responses, though. But that's okay,” she was attempting to speak to him between kisses and it was actually quite comical. “I know you don't have a lot to say sometimes, and I don't mind. I love you just the same.”
“... I love you too,” Henry responded softly, and though it was by no means the first time he had said it to her and he was aware that she knew he loved her, she attacked him with a kiss anyway, knocking him back in surprise. His hand was jostled away from her sex and he fell with his back flat against the bed as Eileen kissed him almost roughly, breaking away to shove his pants down around his thighs with a ferocity that surprised him. This done, she latched her mouth onto his again, her hands exploring his torso leisurely. Henry closed his eyes, relaxing and enjoying the sensation of her soft, gentle hands caressing him. She liked to touch him nearly as much as he liked to touch her, and it made him feel vaguely confident, almost daring.
As Eileen touched him, Henry's hands explored her body in turn, slowly. He already had every wonderful curve, every little dimple and inch memorized from so much slow lovemaking, but he did it as though he had never had the privilege of touching her before. Small sounds of approval from Eileen were muffled by his mouth as he kissed her hungrily, as though he drew life and breath only from her parted lips. Finally, Henry's fingers returned to that warm place between her legs once more, stroking and caressing and finding that place that made her nails dig into him when he pressed there. Impatiently Eileen's feet kicked off Henry's pants the rest of the way as she continued to kiss him, deeply and crazily and lovingly as though she intended to kiss his breath away. He could feel her hands trembling with unfulfilled lust as they found the plain gray fabric of his boxers and pulled them slowly downward, using her feet again to help when she couldn't reach any longer. Henry lifted his hips to help her and Eileen's hands moved as though attracted by the movement, running over his thighs and the ridges of his hips.
A sharp intake of breath was Henry's response to the sensation of her hand finding his erection, soft, soft fingertips trailing over the shaft gently, maddeningly, before she finally gripped it. She smoothed a fingertip over the head, rubbed her thumb in circles on the underside. Henry's brow furrowed, eyes closing, hips instinctively pushing toward her. His fingers on her had gone lax, so consumed was he in his own pleasure, and he began to move them again now, rewarding him with a needy moan from Eileen that got lost in their frantic kiss as he kneaded that precise spot with a knuckle. Eileen's kisses were growing slightly sloppier and more frantic, her hand that stroked and explored him rather jerky in its motions.
“Henry...” she said his name often in the course of their lovemaking but this time it wasn't simply her uttering it for the sake of uttering it; she sounded desperate and slightly impatient and like she needed him, needed him more than anything in the world. She was desperate and breathless and wet for him, and it made him feel vaguely proud of himself. A small, small smile crossed his lips, quickly covered up by her kisses, though he was sure she had seen it. “Henry, please...”
Henry had never been much for conversation, but that didn't mean he wasn't a vocal person. He moaned low and raspy as he entered her warm wetness, licking his lips and quivering a bit as Eileen's mouth found his neck, kissing him there wetly, sucking, trailing her tongue over where his pulse danced out of control. The angles of their bodies, warm and bare and slightly damp with sweat, melded perfectly together and Henry swore he could feel every part of her, every last perfect inch as his hips began to move slowly, building the rhythm that he knew she liked. When it came to sex, Henry aimed to please. Besides photography it was one of the few things he was skilled at.
Eileen kept her nails cut rather short (she was prone to breaking them), and so it didn't hurt much when she dug them lightly into his shoulder blades as he shifted slightly, changing angles and, judging from the shaky gasp that warmed his ear, finding her g spot. Eileen seemed to lose it then, pressing closer to him, kissing him roughly and messily.
“That's good, Henry,” she said breathlessly. He always enjoyed the little words of encouragement she gave him, as though she wanted to go out of her way to make him feel good inside as well as outside. Even in the heat of the moment, she was endlessly thoughtful. “Really good.”
Henry closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sensation of being so close to her, of making love to her. His breath was becoming more erratic and as he pressed deeper, receded, and then pressed deeper still. Continuing on like this, soon their hips were colliding and Eileen was letting out soft, rather arousing sounds against the shell of his ear, pulling her face away now and then when she got a bit too noisy. In these moments Henry felt they were perfectly in tune with each other, with each other's bodies. Now and then when he would pause for a particularly slow, thorough thrust Eileen would gasp appreciatively and he would show his appreciation in return as she ground her hips hard against his, intensifying the sensation and making him want to lose his mind completely. Being with Eileen this way was different from being with anyone else; somehow she seemed to always know what he wanted, what would make him feel the most pleasure. Sometimes he felt she could read his mind.
The air of Henry's bedroom felt almost uncomfortably hot with their exertion, and for a moment Henry felt like he was out of himself, a spectator, listening to their soft sounds as they mingled together, almost as though there was only one person making them. Eileen's legs wrapped themselves around his waist and it only forced him deeper, making him groan much louder than he meant to, caught off guard.
“You're so sexy when you don't hold back,” Eileen told him rather shakily and breathlessly. He was surprised she was capable of speech at this point; all that he could seem to get out of his mouth was a soft, passioned gasp as she raked her neat fingernails down his back, not hard enough to hurt but enough for the pressure to remind him all over again that he was hers. Now the tension was beginning to pool within him and he moved faster, more erratic and less controlled in his motions, the thrusts of his hips becoming disjointed and jerky. Eileen was moving hard against him, completely out of control of her voice, it seemed, but somehow it was unspeakably sexy that she was losing control this way, that he had managed to make her so feral and so desperate.
“Henry...” she said again, but this time was far more desperate than any of the others. He knew that tone, and he forced himself to slow down, taking the time to make each thrust as deep and as passionate as he could, the way that never failed to get her off. It was working; she was kissing him like she didn't really know what she was doing, her hands touching him everywhere she could reach as she muttered things that didn't even make sense cut off by uncontrolled moans that told him just how close to the edge she was. Eileen pressed back against his hips, meeting every thrust and kissing his neck with passionate abandon. He could feel her tensing against him, around him, and a hard moan grew low in her throat as she shuddered, squeezed him a bit tighter, moving out of control. There was possibly nothing sexier in the world to Henry that watching and feeling the intensity of her orgasm and he finished soon after, freezing momentarily against her and filling her with his pleasure.
Henry simply lay and held her for a moment before Eileen started to squirm. “Let me go,” she laughed, and he rolled off of her promptly and let her flop down on his chest, sweaty , her brown hair a mess but looking lovely anyway. For a moment she simply lay and looked at him, her bright green eyes locking with his. Henry was still and silent, taking in the sight of her dark lashes, her light dusting of freckles, the small birthmark on her right ear. “What do you think about, Henry?” she asked him finally, curiously. “When you're not talking?”
“You,” he answered simply, truthfully, and watched as her eyes widened slightly and she placed a grateful kiss on his smooth chest and then one on the rough stubble of his chin.
“You're so sweet,” she told him, resting her cheek against his chest. Henry did not know whether she would fall asleep there or if she would get up and suggest they go for coffee or watch an old movie, but at that moment it didn't matter to Henry. She was one of the few things in life that could make him happy no matter what, and it was the kind of happy existence he had never imagined. It didn't matter what they did as long as he was here with him, and he closed his eyes, taking in the scent of her strawberry shampoo and breathing slowly, deeply, letting her presence relax him.