Tauron Tradition
Title: Tauron Tradition
Word count: 800
Rating: M
A/N: Follows Tauron Cherry.
It’s late when they finally reach Laura’s apartment-- their apartment-- and they laugh at one another as they race up the stairs, both out of breath by the time Bill picks Laura up and carries her over the threshold.
“Bed. Now,” she orders with a giggle.
He pretend-starts toward the kitchen. “I thought we might try the kitchen floor again...it was so nice, last time.”
“No baking keeping us from our bed, this time,” she demurs, cupping his jaw fondly. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to injure your wound.”
His hip throbs slightly at her mention of it, and he gently lowers her to her feet, though his hand remains on her bottom, possessive and guiding her toward the bedroom.
Laura falls back onto the soft mattress, hooks her legs behind his and pulls him down on top of her. “I’ve wanted you again since we first left the house,” she says in a throaty voice. "I wondered about your sanity when you pulled off the highway on the way home." She moves gracefully beneath him, shifts her dress up and over her head, leaving her in bra and panties. She starts working on his clothes next, but it’s taking too long. He straddles her and strips off his button-down and tanks, enjoying the predatory look in her eye as she takes in the broad expanse of his bare chest.
“Careful,” she says, unbuttoning his fly for him and tugging gently. He ignores her unsubtle request and leans down to bring his lips to hers. “Gods, Laura. I love you so much,” he whispers between fervent kisses.
She smiles against his mouth, whispers her own love in return. Then, taking him by surprise, she rolls him onto his back and pulls his pants off for him.
Her fingers play at the edge of the tape holding the bandage against his skin. “I wanna see it,” she says. “Can this come off for now?”
He nods, and peels the bandage away carefully. The artist had answered a similar question for Bill in the affirmative shortly after he’d been inked. “Just make sure you dress it again afterward,” he’d said, winking.
Bill had never gotten a traditional Tauron tattoo before, hadn’t ever felt the need to mark life’s passages in the manner of his ancestors. But after tonight-- being in Qualai with his family, their wholehearted acceptance of the lovely woman he’d brought with him, his proclaiming his love for that woman to her and to anyone else who would listen-- he’d known he was finally ready. And he still knows, as she brings her mouth to his cock, takes all of him and swirls her tongue like she’ll never get enough of him. Oh, he’s ready.
He removes his hand from where it had ended up, tangled in her hair, and gently pushes on her shoulders to signify for her to stop. She stands up between his legs, and he sits up so he can remove her bra, bury his face in her breasts.
Dizzy with emotion and need, Bill finds purchase for his hands against her ass and she presses against him impatiently. “Bill, please,” she breathes.
As he tugs at her panties and lowers them over her hips and down her legs, a small square gauze bandage, not unlike the one just removed from his person, catches his attention.
“What’s this?” he asks, touching the skin at her hipbone, just next to the bandage. He turns them both so she’s laying across the bed and he can get a better view.
She smiles coyly but winces as the adhesive stubbornly separates. “It’s small...”
He settles between her thighs and examines the art closely. A pair of cherries, each round red fruit the size of his pinky nail and connected by thin green stems, has been etched against the canvas of her pale skin.
“The girl at the parlor was able to do it really quickly while you were going over what you wanted done,” she says, her face falling slightly at his lack of audible reaction. “Do you not like it?”
He presses gentle kisses all around the marker of her own commitment, saucy though it might be, and lifts his head. “I love it.” His lips roam from her hip down to the top of her thigh, down to the inside and back up until his nose is just brushing against soft curls. He lifts his head again, and she sighs in anticipation. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” he says, and slowly seeks her clit with his tongue.
“My husband,” she says, breathlessly trying the title out. She writhes against him, pulls at his arms for him to come back to her.
“Wife,” he says, and she places a hand just above the pair of interlocked rings inked into his olive skin to guide him to complete her, as they join together for the first time for the rest of their lives.
Next story: Tauron Tramp Stamp
Word count: 800
Rating: M
A/N: Follows Tauron Cherry.
It’s late when they finally reach Laura’s apartment-- their apartment-- and they laugh at one another as they race up the stairs, both out of breath by the time Bill picks Laura up and carries her over the threshold.
“Bed. Now,” she orders with a giggle.
He pretend-starts toward the kitchen. “I thought we might try the kitchen floor again...it was so nice, last time.”
“No baking keeping us from our bed, this time,” she demurs, cupping his jaw fondly. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to injure your wound.”
His hip throbs slightly at her mention of it, and he gently lowers her to her feet, though his hand remains on her bottom, possessive and guiding her toward the bedroom.
Laura falls back onto the soft mattress, hooks her legs behind his and pulls him down on top of her. “I’ve wanted you again since we first left the house,” she says in a throaty voice. "I wondered about your sanity when you pulled off the highway on the way home." She moves gracefully beneath him, shifts her dress up and over her head, leaving her in bra and panties. She starts working on his clothes next, but it’s taking too long. He straddles her and strips off his button-down and tanks, enjoying the predatory look in her eye as she takes in the broad expanse of his bare chest.
“Careful,” she says, unbuttoning his fly for him and tugging gently. He ignores her unsubtle request and leans down to bring his lips to hers. “Gods, Laura. I love you so much,” he whispers between fervent kisses.
She smiles against his mouth, whispers her own love in return. Then, taking him by surprise, she rolls him onto his back and pulls his pants off for him.
Her fingers play at the edge of the tape holding the bandage against his skin. “I wanna see it,” she says. “Can this come off for now?”
He nods, and peels the bandage away carefully. The artist had answered a similar question for Bill in the affirmative shortly after he’d been inked. “Just make sure you dress it again afterward,” he’d said, winking.
Bill had never gotten a traditional Tauron tattoo before, hadn’t ever felt the need to mark life’s passages in the manner of his ancestors. But after tonight-- being in Qualai with his family, their wholehearted acceptance of the lovely woman he’d brought with him, his proclaiming his love for that woman to her and to anyone else who would listen-- he’d known he was finally ready. And he still knows, as she brings her mouth to his cock, takes all of him and swirls her tongue like she’ll never get enough of him. Oh, he’s ready.
He removes his hand from where it had ended up, tangled in her hair, and gently pushes on her shoulders to signify for her to stop. She stands up between his legs, and he sits up so he can remove her bra, bury his face in her breasts.
Dizzy with emotion and need, Bill finds purchase for his hands against her ass and she presses against him impatiently. “Bill, please,” she breathes.
As he tugs at her panties and lowers them over her hips and down her legs, a small square gauze bandage, not unlike the one just removed from his person, catches his attention.
“What’s this?” he asks, touching the skin at her hipbone, just next to the bandage. He turns them both so she’s laying across the bed and he can get a better view.
She smiles coyly but winces as the adhesive stubbornly separates. “It’s small...”
He settles between her thighs and examines the art closely. A pair of cherries, each round red fruit the size of his pinky nail and connected by thin green stems, has been etched against the canvas of her pale skin.
“The girl at the parlor was able to do it really quickly while you were going over what you wanted done,” she says, her face falling slightly at his lack of audible reaction. “Do you not like it?”
He presses gentle kisses all around the marker of her own commitment, saucy though it might be, and lifts his head. “I love it.” His lips roam from her hip down to the top of her thigh, down to the inside and back up until his nose is just brushing against soft curls. He lifts his head again, and she sighs in anticipation. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” he says, and slowly seeks her clit with his tongue.
“My husband,” she says, breathlessly trying the title out. She writhes against him, pulls at his arms for him to come back to her.
“Wife,” he says, and she places a hand just above the pair of interlocked rings inked into his olive skin to guide him to complete her, as they join together for the first time for the rest of their lives.
Next story: Tauron Tramp Stamp