We're Playing First

I get home. And it's not good.

"Well. Today was...awful. I can't stop thinking about....ugh. I just need to sleep it off. Or drink? Or, well...hmm..."

A few quick texts and several minutes later, one of my partners is knocking on my door. I let him in, and accept the energy drink offering he has for me with a grateful smile.

That's not even part of his script. He just anticipates my needs so well. An absolute gem. All my partners are, really.

I sit on the couch with a sigh, and he kneels between my feet, inquiry on his face. He kisses my inner thigh, once, just above my knee in affection and greeting, as I ponder and make my decision. He's not sure of my mood yet, or what scene to expect.

Neither am I.

I gauge my mood, and open with a negotiated script, making my scene choice. His eyes lights up as he knows exactly what to expect.

"Not yet. We're playing first."

He grins in enthusiasm, scrambling to his feet, and starts turning on the TV, gaming console, and some background music. I open my gifted drink, and stand up to retrieve my hairbrush from the bathroom, placing it on the armrest of the couch as I sit back down.

He eyes the brush and meets my eyes, raising an eyebrow. I shake my head once, so he knows it's for later, and he hands me a controller. He sits in his "spot" at the other end of the couch, and we start to play video games, only speaking to yell out in protest of how absolutely unfair the game mechanics are.

I move closer after I've adjusted to his presence, sliding my leg next to his and kissing his shoulder. He bumps his forehead against my hair in affection, knowing better than to respond with anything else.

And we keep playing.

During any cutscenes or pauses in the game, I brush my hand down the crease of his thigh, continuously checking to see if he has interest in what I suggested for tonight.

Yes. Yes he definitely does, judging by his sharp breathing and the awkward shifting he has to do to keep his erection from being too obvious, every time my fingers brush against his jeans.

At a save point, I stop playing, reaching over to grab my brush and hand it to him. He grins at me in acknowledgment, hopping up to switch the screen over to some Disney movie, turning off the music.

As he sits back down, I nestle between his legs on the floor and he brushes my hair, telling me unprompted about some recent events. Just as he knows he's supposed to. I'm humming slightly as I enjoy the brush pulling thru my hair, and the intimacy of him sharing his day with me. He makes it so easy to love him.

When I feel like he's starting to really reach for topics, I reach my hand up, demanding, and he hands me the brush. I toss it on the couch. Waiting for me to stand and turn around, he then asks me;

"So, anything to share with the class?"

It makes me chuckle, as always. I pointedly drop my eyes to stare at his crotch for a few long moments, and as I slowly meet his eyes again, he looks equally uncomfortable and adoring. He's such a shy lover, which makes it sooo fun to make him blush.

"Actually..." and I launch into a vent about whatever it was that caused me to text him in the first place. I pace. I use my hands to elaborate points. As I finish the vent, I wind down with the script so he knows I'm finished.

"And that's the way the cookie crumbles."

He purses his lips to hide his chuckle as he responds with the next expected question;

"That's scuffed. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

His body seems like it's vibrating with anticipation. Like a plucked bowstring.

I reach down to touch his crotch to stroke him, ensuring he's enthusiastic enough to use tonight, kissing him in the process. I straighten back up, turning my head to look at the bedroom door, pointedly. He stands, brushing deliberately against me to indicate to me that he consents to this particular scene.

And it's the last voluntary thing he'll do tonight.

I gently kiss his chest once in acknowledgement, before taking a step back and turning him, gripping the back of his shirt as I forcefully direct him to the bedroom. I grab his hair to pull his head back, exposing his throat, so I can muse in his ear;

"Maybe. Let's find out."

He starts quietly begging me not to do this, pushing against my pressure gently, as I force him into the darkness of the room...