
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11554350.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      X-Men_(Comicverse)
  Relationship:
      Kitty_Pryde/Illyana_Rasputin
  Character:
      Kitty_Pryde, Illyana_Rasputin
  Additional Tags:
      Cute, First_Kiss, Sex_Toys
  Series:
      Part 14 of Kitty_told_me_to_name_this_series
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-20 Chapters: 2/? Words: 6046
****** First Firsts or Room #612 Revisited ******
by Magik3
Summary
     Kitty and Illyana finally get Doug to hack the X-computers and send
     them back to the hotel where they first had some quality time alone.
     They start talking about firsts, re-enacting some and having others.
Notes
     It starts out cute and fluffy with the recreation of their first kiss
     and then it's going to go some smuttier places. But still cute, of
     course.
***** First Kiss *****

That morning, in the shower, I was remembering the one time Kitty and I had
snuck into the empty hotel room. Waking up together in the morning sunlight and
realizing we had much too little time for what we wanted. We got into the big
shower together and discovered that water hitting the surface of her skin all
over also helped her stay solid.

At least until the hot water ran out. Then she yelped and phased and I had to
come up with a plausible cover story for how I ended up with that bruise on my
chin.

I wanted her back in the shower with me. Not here in the mansion, but far
enough away from prying eyes, sensors and minds.

This was all I could think of when she said that Doug had hacked the X-computer
to get us sent back to that hotel for a weekend. Kitty masterminded the plan.
She spent weeks figuring out when everyone else would be too busy to notice
this suspicious mission to double-check that there were no exploding laser
robot spiders at the hotel. (Of course if there had been, they’d have been
obvious well before now.)

“We could go to dinner first,” Kitty suggested once it was set up. “Like a real
date.”

“Yes, all right. I will go on a date with you,” I told her with a wink.

“Are you sure you don’t need to ask me?”

“One moment,” I said.

I went down to the first floor dining room where Storm had put some of her
flowers in big vases on the tables. I pulled a few from the vases, not enough
for anyone to miss, went back up and held them out to Kitty.

“Kitty, would you go out on a date with me?”

She looked at the closed door, jumped up and kissed me. Sat back down fast,
because it was the middle of the day. “Ohmigosh, I’d love to.”

And that was our first official date. We drove into town. Ordered and started
eating food I was not paying any attention to. In the middle of our meal, two
nice-looking young men came up to ask if they could join us. I don’t know why
men do this. I missed the part where they learned it; must’ve been junior high
school.

Kitty gave me the look that said: please don’t hurt them.

I gave her the look that said: I would not dream of it, considering how it
might jeopardize my ability to lock myself into a hotel room with you and take
off all your clothes rather methodically in about 30 minutes.

At least I hope that was the look I gave. She seemed confused, so I probably
messed it up.

Thickening up my accent, I told the young men, “I am sorry. If we were working
tonight, you could not afford us and anyway it is our night off.”

I’d found that combining a strong Russian accent with any ridiculous thing
tended to work on Americans. And it did on them. They left us very quickly.

Kitty had her face tipped down, hiding her smile. She looked up through her
eyelashes at me and said, throatily, “Are you going to keep doing that accent?”

I dredged my memory for a suitable Russian saying and came up with: <One can't
spoil porridge with butter.>

“Are you done eating?” she asked.

“Were we eating? I was just sitting here moving food around thinking about …
other things.”

She put money on the table, grabbed my hand and pulled me up from my seat.
Dropped my hand and preceded me out of the restaurant, then grabbed it again in
the parking lot, dropped it in the hotel lobby but I caught her hand in the
elevator and wouldn’t let go until she needed both hands to find the hotel key
in her rather big purse.

The room was untouched except for the bags we’d dropped when we checked in. The
tightly made beds seemed much too pristine in the still air.

“I feel like this isn’t ours,” Kitty said.

She crossed to one of the beds and picked up a pillow. Holding it in her hands,
she walked back to me. I watched, unable to figure out what she planned to do
with it, until she hit me softly in the side of the head.

I lunged for her and she phased. I hit the side of the bed, managed to roll on
top of it and raise a pillow in defense. She jumped at me, pillow swinging. I
lifted mine and blocked, then twisted under her pillow and dragged fingertips
across her ribs. I hit enough of her ticklish zone that she started laughing.

She bopped my head with the pillow while I dropped mine and concentrated on
tickling. Her hands caught my face and pulled me up to kiss.

We kissed for a long time, horizontal across the bed. Her tongue made unvoiced
words in my mouth and I answered.

She rolled off me, catching her breath, and said, “I want to try something new,
but I don’t know if you’ll like it. And we don’t have to. I just, you know, I
think about things and this seemed interesting and I didn’t know if maybe, but
maybe not …”

“So far I’ve liked everything,” I said. “And we’ve had a lot of firsts.”

She propped up on an elbow, leaning into me so our bodies touched from chests
down to legs. Thoughtful Kitty face: medium wide eyes, wry smile, barely raised
eyebrows.

“What’s our first first?” she asked. “When we kissed or … um, before that I
guess, when we …”

Cute, blush. I touched her cheek. “When you first touched yourself in bed with
me?”

“You started it!” She slapped my belly, so lightly it was more of a caress. Her
hand snuck under the edge of my shirt and rested on my skin.

“I was dreaming,” I insisted, so she’d go on arguing with me.

“It better have been of me.”

“Of course. You’re all I dream about. Unless I wake screaming.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

I put my hand over hers and said, “Then you may not like that I think our first
first is when you remembered me after the Beyonder destroyed us.”

“Does that count? I mean, were you there for that?”

“I felt it,” I told her, my fingers pressing her hand tightly against my skin.
“Destruction is not as easy as the Beyonder seemed to think. I was somewhere
that wasn’t quite a place, very far outside everything I know, but I held on to
you. And I knew when you had my soulsword in your hand. It felt like you
holding me.”

She turned her hand sideways and played with my fingers. “I like that. I think
it’s like how you can help me be solid when I’m having trouble. We bring each
other more into the world, become more real together.”

I leaned up, kissed the side of her face by her ear and whispered, “And here I
thought that was the sex.”

She laughed, rolled onto me again and kissed my mouth. I wrapped my arms around
her hard, pulled her against me.

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” she asked during our next pause.

“Yes. Of course. It was months after we started with the mutual mas—“

She put a finger on my lips and said, “Touching ourselves together, separately,
in bed.” Her face was stern and smirking. Somehow she could go from girl to
lady in seconds, and then maintain that propriety for whole minutes. I kissed
her finger and she ran it softly across my lips, pulling it away when I tried
to lick or suck on it, and then returning when I behaved.

I remembered there being so much touching during that time when we had been …
touching ourselves together, separately. When we hadn’t yet been talking.
Friendly touching, but not casual. Flirting, but not quite. We didn’t talk
about it and I couldn’t tell what she wanted or how much. I went running a lot
in the mornings and stopped in the woods to release the torrents of need that
kept building every day we didn’t talk. Because it wasn’t enough late at night,
separate, not knowing how she felt.

“You found me in the woods,” I said, not adding that it was pure luck she found
me studying and not engaged in another activity.

“With books,” she said with a laugh. “They must’ve weight a ton to carry out
there.”

“I have a good backpack. All my sorcery notes were in Russian or Demonic and
the Professor was asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. It’s hard to
translate when I didn’t learn in English how to do magic and he didn’t
understand how magic works.”

“That wasn’t all of it, though. You were kind of upset,”

“After Asgard and then the Beyonder, I didn’t quite feel like a whole person. I
still felt, or felt again, corrupted. And I didn’t want to taint you with
that.”

“You can’t.”

“I know that now, but then, I thought you were better off without me around so
much.”

Kitty frowned, shook her head at me. We’d had conversations about my going
away, physically or emotionally, a few times over the last year. She must’ve
decided we didn’t need to revisit that topic, because she returned to our
story.

“I didn’t like you avoiding me,” she said. “It was … interesting to me to see
how much I didn’t like it. I guess I hadn’t caught up with myself. What else is
new, right? I knew I liked you, really liked you, but I didn’t know what it all
meant, except that when I realized you weren’t around as much, I had to keep
finding you. Sometimes I would just phase through the wall into the library and
see your hair and phase out again before you saw me, just to know where you
were. And I wanted to touch you more.”

“You did. Every time you came into our room. A few times I left and came back
to see if you would find a reason to touch me again.”

Her hand had been resting in the middle of my chest, holding her up a little
because her body was still half on top of me. I pulled her fingertips up to my
lips and kissed them.

“I did, didn’t I?” she asked, now mostly on top of me. Lighter than she seemed,
but solid enough.

“Yes. So I made up more errands.”

Her smile widened to a grin. “That thing with your laundry?”

“Completely made up. I don’t even use fabric softener,” I admitted.

“Not ‘made up,’” she said, hand back down to the center of my chest, tapping on
my skin. “ … fabricated.”

I failed at not laughing, but said, “That’s terrible. Why that night? Why did
you come find me?”

Her fingers fluttered along my collarbones, emphasizing her words. “I thought I
should tell you how much I was missing you. But you didn’t come back to the
room. It got really late. I couldn’t settle without you being there, so I went
looking. Logan was on the steps smoking. I didn’t even have to ask, he just
said, ‘she’s in the woods, that way’ and pointed.”

“Good man. But those woods are big, even having a direction.”

“Oh, I air-walked up and saw the glow from your lights through the trees.”

“Smart.”

“That’s what you keep me around for. Well, maybe not you, but everyone else. I
walked down when I saw the light and phased through the trees because I didn’t
know if I should be interrupting you. And then coming through the last few
trees to the clearing with the big rock and you sitting there, books spread out
around you and dozens of tiny sparks of light all around like fireflies. You
were so incredibly beautiful.”

She said the words looking full in my face and I ducked into the curve of her
neck because that was too much. Not that she called me beautiful but the way
she said it. Other people said it like it was a curse, “Watch out for that one,
she’s beautiful but she’s a demon,” or even the Russian saying that haunted me
<She has a face of a beauty, but only hell likes her temper.> Many people acted
like my physical appearance was a lie or a trap. They did not say “beautiful”
about me like it was a good or wonderful thing. But the way Kitty said it, with
awe, made me feel like crying.

Kitty’s fingers curled around the back of my head, tight, needing to be close
as much as I did, but her voice was light as she said, “Wait, that’s not right.
You were very credibly beautiful.”

I laughed and squeezed her. She snuggled against me, pressed her lips to my
hair.

“You were in those ratty old dark gray sweatpants you love, and a sweatshirt
from the school, barefoot. Cross-legged, a book open in your lap and two others
on either side of you on the rock. You put your hand up and half of the little
sparks came to you, this effortless mastery. You directed them to one of the
books so you could see it better. Also, you’d tied your hair back with a piece
of string because there was a little wind and that was so you: the ragged
string wrapped around your hair all golden from the light.”

“The cord from my sweatpants,” I said. “I forgot to bring a hair tie.”

“You read for a bit and stared into the distance with this expression like you
were trying to hold the whole world in your mind and … my heart basically fell
out of my chest and through my belly and through the world and into infinity.
And I got how in love with you I am.”

“From that? Just looking?”

“Because you’re so like me and completely not like me. You understand when I
can’t think everything at the same time but I’m trying. But you do it
differently. And I love that counterpoint, being alike but not. Knowing each
other but always discovering.”

“Yes,” I said, but I could not improve on her words, so I told her, “When I
first saw you come out of the trees, I wondered if this was a vision or
conjuration. Then I saw what you were wearing and it was definitely you.”

“I was in my pajamas.”

“Half of you was,” I reminded her.

“Oh, that’s right. I’d put on my pajama top and then realized I didn’t want to
go to sleep without you.”

“Yes, the pajamas you adore and over that you had a cardigan, not buttoned, the
one with green and orange stripes that I think shouldn’t look good on you but
looks amazing. So blue diagonal stripes under horizontal green and orange and
then you were still wearing a skirt and thick stockings and little boots, so
small they almost should not be called boots. And I thought no one could have
pulled a vision from my brain dressed like that.”

“Should I dress like that more often as a defensive measure?”

“Of course. You know how I feel about you in skirts.”

“Oh. Yes.”

I liked how this felt: the two of us close, weaving the story of our first kiss
in the shimmering air between us. I told the next part, “I patted the stone and
you sat next to me and let me try to explain magic to you. But you asked so
many questions that don’t make sense in the world of magic.”

“I was scared. As soon as I sat down, I wanted to kiss you and I realized, I
think, you’d never been kissed before.”

“True.”

“And I hadn’t … it felt like I hadn’t really kissed someone, not in a way that
wasn’t part of a fairy tale I’d made up, not really someone I was as close to
as I am to you, not where messing it up would be a disaster.” Saying that,
Kitty rolled onto her back, looking at the ceiling but not seeing it. Looking
more at the memory of us.

She said, “You made all those glowing images in the air on top of each other
and it was fascinating but at the same time really disorienting — that was the
first time I understood that magic is a complete system, as much or more so
than science because it’s older. More people have worked on it. And I really
did not get it at all. Like you were trying to teach me calculus but I didn’t
know how addition worked and for sure not multiplication. For a bit it was like
you were so much older than me and I intensely didn’t know how to kiss you. I
hadn’t really thought … I mean, I study a lot, hours a day, but for years that
was all you did, all day, every day, sometimes all night. People think I’m the
genius, but you had memorized books backward and forward, and you could spool
out these ideas and show how it all connects.”

I told her, “I wanted to show you but it was like explaining dance in words.
Not so effective. But I liked you there, listening, interrupting.”

I turned onto my side and she did the same, our faces inches apart. I remember
in the woods, I’d turned to Kitty to see if the latest thing I said had made
any sense to her, and she was staring at me, so intense. I couldn’t think what
to ask her.

“And then you kissed me,” I said.

“Like this.”

She bent forward and put her lips on mine. Soft as a winter’s dawn, not rough
and fraying like my lips usually are. Here, now, I could feel all of her mouth
on mine, but in the woods I had frozen in shock and she’d pulled away sooner
than I wanted and stared down at her little boots.

I pulled away now, grinned at her. “No, it was shorter than that. Like this.” I
kissed her for a second and drew back. “And then I kissed you.”

“Gosh, I was so relieved you did. I thought … I don’t know.”

“Shh, you’re messing with our recreation.”

“Oh, okay. Start over?”

She kissed me, soft but fast, darting back, looking at me almost as startled as
she had that first time. Brown eyes wide at her own daring and afraid of what I
would not do next. Then I felt I had only a second to catch her, let her know I
felt the same.

I kissed her like that now: almost too much force, holding her lips with mine
while I figured out how to kiss a person, how to say so many things all at once
without speaking. I remembered how our lips had moved in increments, working
out how we wanted to be kissing each other.

Her hand had come up to the front of my sweatshirt and grabbed fabric, to
steady herself, maybe, or to hold onto me. She remembered this because she did
it now, too, with my shirt, only this time tugging at me more than she had the
first time.

Where had my hands been? Hard to remember when I had been busy memorizing her
lips. I put one on the outside of her arm as she held onto me and the other had
been braced on the rock for a long time and then, carefully, on her shoulder.

We were not exactly the same, not each tiny gesture, but we managed to kiss for
a while only lips on lips, as we had that first night. Again I tried to learn
everything I could about her lips, laying this new memory over the older
memory. Making each moment, remembered and present, more perfect.
***** Almost First Toy *****
Chapter Summary
     The "new thing" Kitty wants to try is unveiled but not brought into
     play quite the way anyone planned.
“You started off saying you wanted to try something, have we done it yet?” I
asked.

Kitty blushed and then she blushed a lot more. “Um, no?”

“Is that a question because you’re not sure we tried it or you’re still not
sure I’ll like it?”

“That second one. It’s in the car. I could go get it.”

“I don’t know what could be in the car,” I said. “But if it’s going to make you
keep blushing, yes, go.”

We’d parked in back of the hotel and she phased down through the walls and came
back a moment later holding a crumpled brown paper bag. Not small. She sat on
the side of the bed with the bag in her hands, not opening it.

“I didn’t see this in the car,” I told her.

“I phased it into a space that’s not really visible, in case someone else
wanted a ride in with us, you know.”

So whatever was in the bag had to be very hard to explain away.

I took it out of her hands, opened the top, looked in. Stared long enough that
I was sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing, which, all things
considered, I hadn’t ever seen before, though I’d heard about and had once seen
an ad for.


“How did you …?” I couldn’t figure out where that question was going.

Kitty pressed her hands between her knees for a moment, got up, paced away,
came back, sat down, all the while talking: “I phased into one of those adult
video stores, you know, really late at night and left some cash on the counter.
Is it okay? I was afraid you’d think that I want you to be a boy or something
and I don’t. I really like what we do, I was just curious.”

“Of course you were, my Katya, you’re curious about every single thing.”

“Yeah.” She brightened. “I hadn’t thought about it back then, because it was so
long ago, like years, but when we were in space with the Shi’ar and the
Starjammers and that Brood business.” She shuddered at the mention of the
Brood. “The Shi’ar have this amazing clothing machine. I mean, it will make you
anything. I could’ve had an exoskeleton. I made some dresses. And when I was
playing with it, there are all these settings for … sex stuff. I didn’t try
them but I sure looked at ‘em. And a few weeks ago Berto was making some
terrible joke, but it reminded me and then I had to go see what the Earth
versions were like.”

“And you liked this kind?” I asked.

“I thought maybe a lot of them would be cool to try out, but the selection on
Earth is way more limited,” she said.

I laughed. “How long has this been in the car?”

“Oh the whole time. The car was my hiding spot. There aren’t good hiding places
in the house because you never know when we’re going to get infested with alien
robots, or whatever. And if it was near our room and someone found it … I
didn’t want to have to try to explain that. But because I can phase, I could
get it into a part of the trunk, behind the regular trunk, where nobody was
going to just stumble on it. You’d pretty much have to take the car apart and
it’s not one of the cars Wolvie likes.”

“What else do you have hidden around the estate?”

She gave the secret, pleased smile that said she was glad I’d thought to ask
and that she was also not going to answer.

“Can I open it?” I asked.

She nodded, playing with an edge of blanket on the bed. I pulled the box out of
the plain brown bag. There were photos involving two very airbrushed women who
didn’t look completely sure of what they were doing. The tape at the top had
already been cut. Kitty must’ve taken it out to look at. What expression had
been on her face then?  How long had it taken her to determine she wanted to
try this? I flipped the cardboard top open and pulled it out.

“It’s very purple.”

“I thought it would be better if it wasn’t too lifelike.”

“Good idea. Which of us did you imagine would wear it?”

“Both, I guess.”

She looked very uncomfortable, which is not how I liked things in bed. And I
figured, I’d learned to make and use a magic sword forged from my own soul,
this could not be more difficult than that.

There was more in the bag, so I pulled out a set of leather straps and buckles
that looked very interesting, and a black lacy bra that would not fit me.

“If this is yours,” I said, holding up the bra. “This must be mine.” Tapping
the straps.

“If you want to. I mean, I really don’t want you to think you have to. It’s
fine if you don’t.”

I leaned close and whispered, “I like everything we do together. I think I’ll
like this too.”

She kissed me but my bravado faltered as I realized that this was something I’d
prepared for much less than everything else. I had fantasized about kissing
Kitty long before I did, and about touching her, about being inside her with my
fingers, but not with … how did we even? And what did it mean?

She stopped kissing because I’d frozen in thought. Pulled away and examined my
face.

“Katya, when do you think we stopped being virgins?”

“Um, huh, yeah.”

She got up again, moving in the room and counting on her fingers. Fluttering
some as she thought, being a lot of elbows. I let my eyes follow her, focused
on the present but also the past.

She said, “Definitely before the last time we were here, even though you don’t
usually … I mean, because then I phase and it’s awkward.”

“Because I’m not usually inside you? But you’re inside me a lot, in all kinds
of ways. Do you think that’s what we count from? That time after Magus? That
was the first time, I think, with your fingers. But I don’t like this focus on
our sex looking like boy-girl sex. It doesn’t seem right.”

“But that was also the first time we really touched each other and, you know.”

“Came?” I offered.

She grinned in the rarely-seen I’m-as-dirty-as-you-but-I-like-you-to-say-the-
words grin. I got off the bed and caught her face between my palms, kissed her
hard. She pressed into me, held herself up with her hands on my hips.

I nuzzled the side of her face, her hair tickling my skin, and said, “So the
first time we made each other come, then we weren’t virgins anymore. And since
then we have both been inside each other in many ways. But still I think this
new thing you’ve brought, it’s bigger. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Um.” Her cheek pressed against my shoulder, her face turned away. “What if I
already tried it?”

“You …” I stepped back, arms-length, holding her out so I could see her very
dark red blush. Looked at the toy I’d left on the bed, back at Kitty. The
desire burning under my skin becoming a painful need.

I let go of her long enough to grab the toy off the bed. Running a finger along
its ridged length, I asked, “This, you … and you liked it? Clearly, yes.”

She nodded. “Is that okay?”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago. You were off with the New Mutants and I missed you. You’ll
think I’m silly. I took your sweatshirt to bed with me and it just seemed like
a good time. There’s this spot in the attic no one can really get to. I put a
blanket up there ages ago and used to go up there to just read. It’s not big
enough for both of us, so I hadn’t been up there in a while, but I took the,
um, toy and your sweatshirt and, yeah.”

Toy still in hand, I crossed the room to her and pushed her back against the
wall, kissing and biting everywhere except her mouth, as I pressed the toy
between her legs, so I could hear her whimper. I rubbed it against her, making
her feel the ridges through her pants and she pressed forward to feel more.  

“How did it feel?”

She shook her head. I put one hand in the middle of her chest and stepped back,
my body and the toy held away from her. The dismay on her face rearranged
itself into defiance.

“Big,” she said. “And full and heavy. I pushed my shirt up and rubbed your
sweatshirt across my breasts to stay solid, like you were there with me.”

“Did you come for me?”

She glanced away, the color back in her cheeks. “Of course I did. And then I
fell asleep curled up with your sweatshirt and woke with a horrible leg cramp.”

“I’m sorry I missed that,” I told her and slid my hand up from her chest to the
side of her face.

She pulled me back to her, brought my hand and the toy between her legs again.
I wondered how long we had until both of us came standing against the wall,
fully dressed, with the toy attached to no one.

“What about you?” she asked, breathless because I was licking under her earlobe
and still pressing the toy between us. “What if I also want to try with you?”

“It’s not too big. I fucked myself with all kinds of things in Limbo?”

“What?!” her shriek was as much delight as surprise. Her hands clenched around
my shoulders. “Illyana Rasputin, what did you say?”

I repeated myself more slowly and with a bit more accent, “I fucked myself with
all kinds of things in Limbo. I was the only teenager there. I got bored. And
there were a lot of candles.”

“Wouldn’t the wax …?”

I shrugged. “Well, I started with a wooden hairbrush handle, well-sanded but
too thin. Metal dagger, too cold.”

“You put a dagger in your …?”

“The hilt! Lords, Kitty, the hilt! And, okay yes, once the dagger in its
scabbard, but it was also too thin. I wanted to try a sword hilt, but the
length of the blade made it really impractical. Ornamental bookends, badly
weighted. So then candles because I could find about any thickness I wanted. I
learned a containment spell to keep the wax where it should be and that kept me
pretty well entertained for most of age thirteen.”

Her hands moved from my shoulders down to my ass. She was holding me so she
could grind against the toy that had aligned itself between her legs and
against the front of my jeans.

“You never told me this before,” she accused, punctuating her words with
pressure between our hips.

I was leaning into her, pushing her harder against the wall, one hand curled
around the back of her head as I kept kissing the side of her face and neck,
the other hand keeping the toy very beautifully aligned.

“In what context would it have come up?” I whispered, thrusting against her,
feeling how good this was now and how wonderful it could be without clothes.

“I light candles all the time.” Her words made hot puffs of air on the side of
my face. Her fingers had become claws, insisting on a particular rhythm from my
thrusts, a specific amount of force.

I mimicked my own voice trying to sound too casual, “By the way, Katya, that
candle you’re lighting is about the same girth as my favorite fucking candle
from Limbo — like that?”

She pushed my hand off the toy and replaced it with hers so she could shove it
back against me.

“You know we’re calling this the candle from now on,” she said as the toy
rubbed hard through my jeans, against my clit.

I groaned and forced out the words, “What did you call it when you used it
before?”

Her lips brushed my ear and she whispered, “Ilya.”

Her hand held the toy and I wondered if this what was it felt like to be a guy
with his dick out. Exposed in the best ways. Or perhaps simply to be a person,
all intimate nerve endings held in the hand of the girl I loved, responding to
every slight change of touch, focused on her as the whole world.

I felt only slightly the places her body touched mine, the awareness that her
lips moved on my skin. Felt much more strongly the conduit of power between her
fingers, her palm and my core. Inside out, not the way I was used to, her touch
all outside my body instead of inside, but so much the same pressure and
openness, wanting, being present to only her actions.

The spasms started in me, the rush of pleasure going up and wetness bursting
down between my legs. I thrust into her hand, corresponding wash of wet, again
and again.

When the world had reassembled, Kitty was holding me up. She pushed us the few
steps to the bed and I fell back. Her hands opened my legs wide. She looked
there for a while and then her eyes came up to meet mine with an exceedingly
wicked look.

She said, “I saw a boy come in his pants once. A wet spot right here.” Her
thumb circled an area on my inner thigh and I squirmed. “I wondered what that
felt like.” Her fingers slid down and in, forcing wet denim and cotton against
my sensitized skin. I gasped.

“The other girls at school couldn’t decide if it was a mark of pride to make a
boy come in his pants.”

“Yes,” I choked out.

“What I saw wasn’t very big. I was kind of surprised. I thought boys had more
stuff, you know, and I guess some do. But this …” she circled an area between
my legs with her fingers. “I could be proud of. Do you think we could make it
bigger?”

I nodded.

“These jeans are the perfect color, and fit. Is it cheating if I do this?” She
put her mouth between my legs, pushed the soaked seam of my jeans up into me.

I didn’t have to answer. Couldn’t have anyway.

On top of this pristine bed with my boots still on, jeans on and getting
soaked, the fabric hot against my skin but starting to cool at the edges.

Kitty didn’t phase, she just pulled my zipper open and slid her fingertips in
until she found my clit through my underpants. That didn’t allow for a lot of
dexterity, but it didn’t matter. The tightness of my jeans pressed her fingers
into me and she only had to rub slightly to send jolts of pleasure through me.
Especially since her lips and tongue worked between my legs, playing with the
textures under the wet denim that was getting wetter from both sides.

She’d set the toy on the bed when she wanted to put both hands on me, and I
found it, held it as if it were part of me, attached to me, which didn’t make
sense but also, very much, did. The bed was too tightly made to grab blanket,
so I knotted my other fist around an edge of pillow.

When I started coming, Kitty pressed her mouth and tongue against me like she
could drink my orgasm and I came in waves, spasms, wracking my body.

I was gasping, hazy, and she said, “Okay, yeah, I’m pretty proud of that.”

I leaned up so I could look down: wide open zipper, flash of underpants, broad
and very dark wet denim between my legs, up toward my zipper where Kitty had
licked, extending to the top of my inner thighs.

“Should be,” I said. “If I’m the guy, do I get a nap?”

She reached across the bed to where I still had one hand curled around the toy.
“Doesn’t look like you need one.”
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