Here's a second ficlet for the Porn Battle. Better Off Ted this time, Ted/Veronica, hair down, acoustics, all lit up, oneupmanship. Hopefully it actually makes a lick of sense.
"What Was That?"
Sure, there was a stapler (a red Swingline he'd gotten her as a Christmas gift one year, knowing she wouldn't get the joke but that she'd like the practicality of the gift) under one of his shoulders, but having Veronica stretched out on top of him, all taut muscle that somehow managed to be perfumed and soft, made her desk the only place Ted wanted to be at that moment. Or possibly ever.
One lock of hair streaked across her face, loosened from that implacable bun, and he grinned in triumph at the sight of it, clinging to her cheek, sticky with sweat. He rolled them over, reached up, and pulled the clip from her hair, elbows hitting all sorts of things as he went. The eyeroll she gave him made him pause for a moment just to contemplate her, fierce and powerful and his boss, next to naked above him. There was very little Veronica wasn't good at, and this was no exception.
She blinked down at him, pushing back the mass of her hair with a hand suddenly languid, and smiled a secret, catlike smile. "Why, thank you, Ted, you're quite accomplished yourself, you know."
"Mmmm?" he asked, as best he could while his mouth was busy with a pink nipple. She must have liked that, because he could hear her moaning and gasping, and it crescendoed as his free hand got past her stockings and panties.
"You're right, this desk was a good choice; it's holding up rather well."
He pulled his mouth away from her skin and stilled his fingers. "Okay, what?" he asked. "I didn't say anything about the desk."
"Ted," she sighed impatiently, grasping his wrist and getting the pads of his fingers wet with her again, "I might not have it verbatim, but first you said, 'Oh, Veronica, the length and beauty of your hair is matched only by that of your list of accomplishments,' and then you commended me on my choice of this desk from the office catalog. Unnnnnnhhhhhh."
"'Oh, Veronica'?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not some nineteenth-century British poet! And I never said anything about your list of accomplishments!" So what if he had a little bit of a thing about her hair? "I'm not the one who's been moaning like a porn star!"
"I rarely moan, Ted," she contradicted, biting down on her lip as she took just the tip of his dick inside her. "And I never hallucinate compliments."
She was bracing herself against his shoulder, but they were both too slick with sweat to make that a workable solution. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase, and knocked against a little switch. "Ted, Ted, Ted!" she shrieked as he pushed up just as she bore down, and good god, he was going to be seeing stars for a week. Her face was flushed pink like when she read profit forecasts at their quarterly meetings. "I know -"
"Me too," he said, hands on her hips to make each time they slammed together that much more resounding. "That project -"
"Yesssss," she breathed, and the desk gave way after all, sending a red Swingline stapler flying and the two of them nursing rug burn wherever they hadn't been cushioned by each other's flesh.
Project Smile had been named by Phil and Lem in a moment of weakness, when they were feeling pretty bad about the ease with which their inventions were turned to nefarious purposes. That this one had only had nefarious purposes didn't seem to matter. Fortunately, they'd left sentimentality behind and brought their A-game to the design, so the thing worked like a charm. It was a desktop device that allowed each party in the room to hear what she or he wanted to hear. Veridian thought this would be perfect for counterparty negotiations, and Veronica had tested it in an impromptu meeting with Linda, who'd left the office believing Veronica thought her dainty-footed, witty, and an asset to the company. The actual transcript of that meeting would have shown none of that.
"We must have accidentally turned it on at some point," Ted said, panting, from his rather comfortable spot on the rug.
"Obviously," Veronica scoffed. "And I figured it out after one orgasm, and in the middle of my second."
"Yes, I am just that good," he said, and yanked her forward to cut off any protests with a kiss.
She smiled against his mouth, and Ted pulled her to her feet, got his dress shirt around her shoulders, his jacket around his own, and pulled her toward the nearest stairwell.
He wanted to see what she looked like up on the roof, all lit up by the stars and maybe some stray bioluminescent squirrels. And he wanted to hear what she really sounded like, deep down, what she was willing to let slip. He knew he could get her to moan.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.