
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/130059.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Pretty_Little_Liars
  Relationship:
      Ezra_Fitz/Aria_Montgomery
  Character:
      Aria_Montgomery, Ezra_Fitz
  Additional Tags:
      Community:_kink_bingo, virginity/celibacy, Teacher-Student_Relationship,
      First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-10-29 Words: 3458
****** Seasons Are Changing ******
by summerstorm
Summary
     "Easy," he says, palms bracketing her elbows before she can get at
     his belt buckle. "No rush, Aria."
Notes
     Post-1.10. For the kink-bingo prompt virginity/celibacy. Title from
     Tristan Prettyman.
"Easy," he says, palms bracketing her elbows before she can get at his belt
buckle. "No rush, Aria."
"That's easy for you to say," she snaps. Half the words come out as a whisper,
and the other half are barely hissing sounds. It sounds stupid and immature,
but he's tormenting her. He's teasing and taunting and he doesn't even realize
it.
This was so much easier before he said yes.
Before that, there was a wall Aria was very much aware of—a thin, see-through
glass wall, but a wall all the same, one without doors or windows or air ducts
to crawl through to the other side. It was there the day they met, more on her
end than his, barely paper, but it became firm and solid and real somewhere
around the time he realized she was sixteen and his student. It's a mutual
thing, now, really: unspoken rule #1 in their relationship appears to be thou
shall not come into contact with skin that's kept covered in public, and the
fact that it's an unspoken rule means they both smartly inferred it from the
situation, so. Mutual.
Okay, actually that rule went out the window last week, when they were making
out against the door and Aria slipped her hands down the back of Ezra's pants,
completely unaware that he wasn't wearing any underwear. Ezra's not really the
kind of person Aria would expect that from, because he is not, so it was a
perfectly understandable accident, even after she kept her hands right where
they were until Ezra remembered they shouldn't be there and cooled things all
the way down by sending her home.
Of course, three days later she did the same thing, only he was wearing
underwear, so touching his ass wasn't an accident. And he let her. He shook his
head and said, "Fine, but no sex. Not until you're out of high school. I'm
serious," and palmed her breasts over her shirt. She has a light suspicion he
did it to scare her, to make her realize she wasn't ready, but it didn't work
at all. She was a little surprised at first, but being a virgin didn't actually
mean nobody'd ever felt her up before, and the newness of Ezra doing it, the
fact that she just knew Ezra wanted their relationship to remain pure even more
than he wanted her, the way she could practically hear the engines in his head
roar when she arched up into it, and then when he ran his thumb along the strap
of her bra and didn't let it shift an inch out of sheer stubbornness—it made it
impossible not to want more. The idea of wearing down his self-sacrificing,
overly responsible resolve was enough to carry her through three orgasms when
she got home that night.
That's kind of what got them here, actually: ever since the whole New York
debacle, he's gotten into this habit of talking about their relationship, being
upfront about everything, and earlier tonight she mentioned it was nice every
now and then to know the no-sex thing was about principles and not an issue of
not wanting her.
Ezra frowned. "When do you ever think it's about that?"
"I—okay, can I say something without you cutting me off and giving me a speech
on what a terrible idea it would be for us to have sex?"
"Uh," Ezra said, "do I really—"
"Because I already know it is," Aria added. "And why. All the whys."
"Then, yeah, go ahead," Ezra said, mouth settling into a wary line.
"Okay," said Aria, "here's the thing: I spend a lot of time here. Hours at a
time. Every time I come over for dinner, I spend all evening here. Sometimes I
do homework here."
"Don't remind me," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Sometimes I take naps in your bed. With you. We couldn't look more suspicious
if we tried, and sometimes I seriously wonder, why don't we try? Even if
someone knows I'm here, they're not going to know what we're doing, they're
just going to assume, so what's the difference? Either way we'd have to lie.
Besides, the other day I reached a point where I understood guys' thing for
being girls' firsts, just because you're so set on—so determined to keep us PG
I just want to rip your clothes off and make you let yourself want me. It's
kinda weirding me out."
There was a sharp, long intake of air—it might have been her, Aria realizes,
after her little speech, but it felt distant and it would make sense if it had
been Ezra, particularly because after that, careful not to even so much as see
Aria's thigh, he pushed one of her knees off the bed until she got the message
and stood up, stopped straddling him. Then, he said, "Maybe we should go back
to the living room."
"Yeah," Aria said, turning around.
"Why did you—" Ezra said behind her, as she walked out, and she heard the door
close on his question.
She looked back for a second, in the interest of honesty. "Full disclosure."
They put on a movie, and he got over his freakout about twenty minutes in—or,
at least he held her hand over his lap, which seemed to be his way of
apologizing when he didn't mean to stop standing his ground. Aria got that.
Disagreeing like adults was a lot better than the whole I know what's best for
you shtick Ezra had favored for some reason at one point. Aria could handle
disagreement when she got to stand her ground, too.
That was what it was, in a way, when she disentangled her fingers from his and
squeezed his knee, trailed her hand up his thigh until he was actively fighting
to keep his gaze blank and on the screen. She stopped watching the movie
altogether and followed the fractional motion of her hand with her eyes,
watched the fabric of his jeans wrinkle around her thumb and, almost
unnoticeably at first, stretch near her knuckles, over his hardening cock. His
thigh seized up under her hand, like he was making an inhuman effort not to
react to her touch, to maintain his composure and his body in check.
Too late, Aria thought, and cupped his cock through his jeans. His breath
caught in his throat for a split second, but he kept his hands unnaturally firm
on the couch. She felt his eyes on her now, though—it was weird, and she
wouldn't swear he was watching her, but it definitely felt that way—and she
took the fact that he hadn't run off yet as permission to squeeze a little,
feel him out.
He let out a loud, strangled moan, and her eyes snapped up to face him.
"Okay, fine," he said, rushed and sounding like a begrudging surrender.
"What?"
Ezra's face fell into a pleading grimace. He said, "Don't make me say it," and
Aria knelt up on the couch to kiss him, and the wall that had kept her from
letting want take over her vanished at the exact moment Ezra's hand slid up her
shirt.
And now they're here, and she can't slow down, she can't let him pull away and
ask if she's sure every two minutes, because there's no wall, and her body
knows it, and she feels like she's going to die if she has to wait.
"I'll start without you," Aria pokes, and what's meant to be an empty threat
turns out to be more of a warning, because once she squeezes her thigh she
can't help trailing her hand up and pressing her extended fingers against the
crotch of her shorts.
She doesn't even notice her eyes have followed the motion until she
unexpectedly meets his gaze again. And that's self-consciousness kicking in
right there, fuck. Her hand stills, and she chokes back a whine as she slides
it down to her knee, trying to tone things down.
Of course it's not going to shock him if she touches herself — she's sure he
must have seen a girl do that before, probably more than once, and probably
with a lot less clothes on than she's wearing right now — and she doesn't care
about comparing to them, but she does care about something, and she cares about
it enough for her cheeks to flush with heat as he watches her squeeze her
breasts through the padding of her bra.
"Just let me—" she says, palming his bare stomach as she lunges forward to
capture his mouth in another kiss. She figures that's safe territory, the one
thing he's never asked her if she's sure about, not in a way that was about the
kissing rather than the general concept of their relationship. She flings a leg
over his lap, resting her weight on her knees, and tries not to do anything
beyond this, beyond kissing, until he does, at least for a while, until she
figures out what exactly makes him uncomfortable. If he thinks she's going fast
to hide her own discomfort and sundry insecurities, she can probably disabuse
him of that notion. If it's something else, like that it weirds him out to let
a girl take charge, they may have a problem. Or a long conversation ahead of
them, which is so not what she's in the mood for right now.
She's considering moving her weight from her knees to his thighs, fuck keeping
a temporary distance, when he drags the straps of her bra over her shoulders,
down until she bends her elbows through them and gets the straps off. She
reaches back to unclasp her bra, but he intercepts that movement, too.
"Don't you want it off?" she asks.
"No," he says, and she's ready to make it crystal clear that she's perfectly
okay with giving him access to her tits when he tugs one of the bra cups just
low enough for her nipple to pop out, low enough to thumb at it and then twist
it hard and determined in a way that makes her forget what she wanted to
complain about. He adds, "Can you keep it on?"
"Oh," she says, "oh. Sure."
"I mean, if it's uncomfortable or—I don't mind taking it off," he says. He
manages to make it sound like he truly wants her to wear her bra through this
for reasons that have nothing to do with chastity and responsibility and shit,
like he just likes that. It's unsettling until she looks down and realizes her
other nipple's half covered, half not, and there's something absolutely
thrilling about being almost naked, almost exposed.
"No, it's fine," Aria says, and uses the momentary distraction to undo his belt
and fly without getting lectured on 'taking it easy.' It doesn't come even
after she slides her hand into his pants, either, and touches his dick over his
boxers. That's not entirely new, either—she's given a couple of handjobs
before—but it's Ezra, and she feels a little embarrassed all of a sudden, no
matter how determinedly she tells herself it's stupid, that he's hard for her,
so hard for her, and he should know better than to expect a mindblowing first
time with her, because that's just not how first times usually go.
She maps out the shape of his cock with her hand, adapting her fingers down the
length and, more loosely and self-consciously, fitting her palm to his balls
for just a moment.
"You okay?" Ezra asks, looking at her face, and his voice sounds strained
enough that she feels all the embarrassment vanish from her bones. She's fine.
It's Ezra. She trusts Ezra—she's never trusted anyone enough to allow their
hands down her pants, let alone want them there, and she's pretty desperate to
feel Ezra's fingers inside her, desperate for him to touch her. That's got to
count for something.
"Yeah," she says, smiling, and blurts out, "Can I blow you?"
He blinks at her. "I—I guess, are you—"
"Do not ask me if I'm sure," she warns, and slides off the couch to kneel
between his legs. He props himself up on his hands to make it easier for her to
yank his pants down, and she leans in to mouth along his cock through his
boxers, eyes closed, experimentally. She's always thought it is ridiculous, the
way people sometimes close their eyes like that makes them invisible, but damn
if it doesn't help right now.
The fabric is warm, a little damp around the head of Ezra's cock, and it
feels—it feels like something she can do, taking him in his mouth, tasting him.
By the time she pulls back and drags his boxers down, she's even curious.
She's not sure where the staring comes from, though. Probably that she's never
been this close to a guy's dick before, not at eye level, anyway. She sets her
sweaty palms on his thighs for leverage, and that's when she notices how tight
his body is, how hard his hands are holding onto the edges of the couch
cushions, how intensely he's looking at her, full of focus and heat and
something she doesn't like as much, something like anxiety sombering down his
expression, his beautiful cheeks, his half-open mouth.
"What's wrong?" she asks, without meaning to. It's such a perfect opportunity
for him to back out. She regrets asking as soon as the words are out.
"Nothing—nothing's wrong," he says, shaking his head. "Just having a moment
here. Weird moment. You ever get creeped out by how hot you find it that
there's a girl kneeling down between your legs and outright staring at your—"
"No," Aria says, smirking, "no, I can't say that's ever happened to me."
Ezra laughs, soft. "Right," he says, "obviously," and a small smile blooms on
his face as she tries to contain a giggle. It would really not be good for
anyone if she started giggling like a—like a schoolgirl or something.
She strokes his thighs. "I have no idea what I'm doing," she says to sober up.
Works like a charm. "That's why I'm staring."
"Oh, god," Ezra says, expression reverting to worry, "you don't—this is not at
all what I was expecting would happen, here. Seriously. At all. You don't have
to—"
"Okay, I know that," Aria interrupts, "stop acting like—" Like you need to
protect me. "I know that, god, I just." She bites her lip hard and swipes her
tongue over it. Ezra's eyes shut for a moment, and she takes the sudden surge
of empowerment that makes her feel to drag her hands up his thighs and lean in
to touch her tongue to his cockhead, swirl it around tentatively and lick her
lips. It's not bad. It's probably an acquired taste, and she's not—crazy about
it or anything, but she still wants to suck him off, wants it even more than
before. It's interesting, she guesses, not to mention how the mere concept of
doing this is consistently driving her crazy. "I want to," she says, looking at
him until he meets her eyes, holding his gaze as she takes him in her mouth as
far as she can.
He runs his fingers through his hair and lets his head drop back, and she
smiles and swallows around him. It makes his hips jerk under her hands, and she
keeps her hands firm there after that, letting the pressured guide the pace of
her mouth. It's not a terrible blowjob, she doesn't think. She doesn't gag and
she doesn't slobber and she doesn't accidentally graze him wth her teeth or
anything. She even manages to slide her mouth up and down regularly at points,
once she gets used to the weight on her tongue, the taste, the heat.
It's probably not great, either, but she has a pretty awesome excuse, and he
reacts to what she's doing beautifully, all hitched breath and escaped moans
and muscles tensing under her grip. She thinks he's even more embarrassed than
she's been all night when he sets a hand on her head and says, "I'll—warn you,
okay?" and she makes an acknowledging noise with her nose. He makes good on his
promise—she pulls off when he tugs lightly at her hair, getting back on the
couch and finishing him off with her hand.
She doesn't even notice how sore her jaw is until after he comes over her fist,
until she's wiped her hand on his discarded t-shirt and he drags her onto his
lap to kiss her.
"I feel kind of bad now," he says apologetically, kicking off his clothes, but
there's still a smile behind it all.
She lets out a puff of laughter. "You look crestfallen, you really do," she
says, nipping at his neck, letting herself get distracted from his hands on her
waist and lower, and then one of them tracing her stomach before popping the
button of her shorts and disappearing inside. It's possible she whimpers at the
sudden invasion, the feel of Ezra's fingers, of fingers not her own spreading
her out, slicking her up with her own wetness.
It's possible she's not ready for it, at this particular moment, but in that
way where all she wants to do about it is bury her head in Ezra's shoulder and
murmur incoherences as she pushes her hips up into his hand, seeking friction
on her clit when he slips a finger inside her. It's a miracle she doesn't grab
his hand to make him go faster. So she doesn't expect it, and she's not ready
for it right away, but it's definitely not the lack of preparedness he's been
scared of.
He slows down, and she whimpers again. "Maybe you could calm down," he
suggests, soft in her ear. She can't tell if he's serious or joking.
"Maybe you should make me come already," she says, and lets her hips jerk
freely from that moment, forcing him into a faster, more satisfying rhythm,
making more noise than strictly necessary when he slides another finger in
alongside the first and moves his free hand to the small of her back, down over
her ass to push her shorts and panties down and hold her in place as he fucks
her with his fingers. She stretches out her legs until her feet touch the arm
of the couch and holds onto his shoulders, helping him along, helping herself
along until the tension bundled in her stomach spreads over her legs and hips
and chest, warm on her cheeks, and then she urges him to harden the pace of his
fingers, groaning, "Come on, please," into his collarbone over and over, until
her skin feels electric and her hips start twitching and she comes, long and
slow, the kind of orgasm where she feels boneless afterwards, and like she's
completely lost track of time, like she blacked out even though she didn't.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she whispers, pulling up her shorts and
relieving Ezra of her weight, half-sitting, half-lying next to him instead of
on him. "But next time we should do this in your bed." She enjoys the
sleepiness for a few moments—she can't really fall asleep right now or she'll
be a mess in half an hour. She's not dumb enough to spend the night. Hanna
would probably cover for her, but she doesn't want the judgment from her and
she really shouldn't push it with Ezra. It's bad enough that she spends so much
time in his apartment; she can't have people wondering where she's staying the
night, too.
"You and I need to have a talk about ephemeral pleasures one of these days,"
Ezra says, rubbing his forehead with his forearm.
"You're being patronizing," Aria says. He told her to call him out on it, it's
not like it's solely for her own benefit.
"I'm being self-deprecating," he points out. "And I need a shower before I
can—drive you anywhere, or show you out, or even stay awake." He takes a
considering look at her. "If you want to shower with me, I guess that wouldn't
be crossing a line anymore," he says, but his face and tone aren't as
straightforward: he doesn't look exactly opposed to the idea, but he doesn't
look thrilled either, like he definitely sees it as a line they have yet to
cross.
"No," Aria says. It's not about him, that answer; it's about her. "I think I
want to leave that first for another time."
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