(This turned into so much more than it was supposed to be. I meant it as a short thing about a fantasy of mine, and instead it became a long drabble. So here is 560 words of smut. And yes, I imagined Chris Evans while I wrote it.)
Wonderful. Thunder. Again.
Anyone else think being seriously fucked during a thunderstorm could cure astraphobia?
Just imagine it.
Fandom: Chris Evans | Characters: Chris Evans | Written: July 2016
The absolute fear rushing through your body. Adrenaline making your heart pound a million miles an hour. Your body is in a fight or flight mode. Flight winning, but you got nowhere to run to.
But he knows exactly how to turn you on. And in this state, it doesn’t take much for you to be trembling in his hands. You’re not sure you can take it. The fear. The arousal. It’s confusing.
A violent clap of thunder, and the lights go out. Everything inside the house whirring to a stop. You only hear his breaths as he focuses on you, and your shallow heaves, trying to get a sense of the world.
He plunges into you in time with another roll from above. Pounding into you with just as much force as the phenomenon outside. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room for the few seconds of silence.
A flash of lightning illuminates the room and you see him above you for a split second, but the image is burned into your mind. Eyes dark, a thin sheen of glistening sweat on his skin, hair plastered to his forehead. It’s humid. Your actions have you both drenched.
The sound of thunder rolls in from afar. Louder and louder. His hips move in rhythm with it, your thighs trembling around him in desperation. Another flash of light, and the sky right above you is wrenched open, meeting the other wave, and the sound reverberates, shaking the foundations of the house.
One of his hands move to your hair, tugging and forcing your head back, exposing you to him. He bites down on your neck, groans, and your moan trembles. Your bodies slide wetly against each other. The obscene sounds mixing with the rain that start pattering against the open window.
Your head is filled with your heartbeats, and you don’t even acknowledge the war mother nature is fighting just inches away from your head. The coil in your stomach tightens.
He adjusts his hips and hit that spot and different storm erupts inside your body. You scream your euphoria to the heavens, arching yourself into hard muscles, shaking like an earthquake.
He starts chasing his own high, mercilessly slamming into you, lips and teeth fastened to your shoulder. Scorchingly hot breath against your skin. As another roll of thunder tumbles across the sky, he growls from the bottom his toes, pushing deep into you and releasing his seed into you.
You listen to the weather and the man in your arms, feeling warmth spread inside you. With erratic thrusts he milks himself, not letting one single drop go to waste, then collapses on top of you.
The storm is blowing away. Heavy rain replacing it, cooling the soil and the trees and the grass after a day of stifling heat and humidity. Nothing is cool inside though.
Your sticky bodies are pressed together, him softening inside you. The adrenalin is leaving your system, and you feel drowsy.
The ticking of several appliances being turned on signal that the power is back. Your air condition whirs to life.
He slides out of you and roll to the side. You sigh at the loss, at the empty feeling. But sleep is claiming you. Your hand finds his, and you hold it gratefully as you slip into a deep rest.