[Original] Yearning

[kittydesade]

Title: Yearning
Source: --
Genre: Mainstream/Erotic
Characters: Veronica, David
Word Count: 3,063
Summary: All things in their time; Veronica sets out to seduce her boyfriend, via an opportune performance and a talent for the classics.
A/N: Written for the kink_bingo prompt "Crossdressing"

They were going slow. After everything that had happened between them, Veronica was ready to go slow with something. To take her time, take their time while they took the relationship to each successive step. After their first real kiss she had smiled, hugged him and told him good night, and gone home and written about five notebook pages worth of song lyrics. Some were sappy, some were intense, and she wasn't ready to debut the song yet. She wasn't going to Taylor Swift it.

But that was what he did to her. He put songs in her heart. Had since the overdose and the lecture from his brother and all that mess. Maybe since before that, she didn't know. It was complicated. It was all incredibly complicated and too tangled to untangle without a great deal of thought and she was on in thirty.

The upshot of it was, they were taking their time. But every evening they spent together left her more and more breathless and maybe it was time to up the ante.

Veronica took a second to still her trembling hands and then dumped a pile of gel into it, smearing it all over her hair and pushing it back as smooth and straight as she could get it.

This was all her new manager's idea. And while it was artsy and daring enough to catch her interest, it was also just short of burlesque. Enough to make her wonder if it was a good idea. Not that there was anything wrong with what she was about to do, but it was close enough to when she had pranced about on stage high on uppers and getting drunk afterwards, at least in her clothes.

She reminded herself that even if the clothes were about as tantalizing, there was nothing so easy about what she was about to do that meant she could be high or manic while she was doing it. It required voice control, body control, and an awareness of what was going on around her. It required skill, which she had been nurturing and building, and it required talent, which everyone said she had in spades. She could do this.

Which didn't make it easier when she peeked out through the curtains and saw the size of the audience. Big, for a venue this small. She'd told David that the butterflies and stage fright never really went away; it was true. And she couldn't see him in the audience, which either made it better or made it worse, she didn't know.

"Hey." And that was her manager, Keith. Her new manager, who actually was working out better than she'd ever expected. Amber had a good eye for that kind of thing. "Time to get dressed. You'll be fine."

She snorted. "Uh-huh." But she did get dressed. Start to get ready.

There was a trick to stepping out onto the stage dressed as Frank Sinatra and selling it. A self-assured swagger to the hips, men had different ways of walking due to different equipment, different centers of gravity. The dance coach Keith had hired for a week had given her a crash course in it. Despite the fact that the pants had been tailored to her hips, the jacket tailored to her curves, the overall suit cut was still along a man's lines. Tailored like a man in ways that were subtle but made sense, apparently, to the show's costumer. Like the way the jacket buttoned or the lines that were on it. Something. It wasn't her specialty.

She stepped onto the stage with her head high and her face calm and even. Opened her mouth and pitched her voice lower than usual and sang.

Singing like this for any length of time was difficult. They brought in two other singers in rotation, and while the others were singing she and her partner got to dance. Squared shoulders and chin jutted slightly, masculine posture. Authoritative. Arrogant. She was far too aware of the breeze and the heat of the follow spot on her bare sides, just how much skin was showing there. With every breath pushing the tuxedo front out a little, then letting it sag back. Focus on something else.

She was, for one thing, supposed to be looking at her dance partner like she smouldered for her. Him, actually. He was a tenor, and she was pretending to be a bass, ish, and it was all one big gender role statement but that didn't distract her from the fact that up this close the dress and makeup didn't work so well. He still looked good. And demure. It was creeping her out a bit.

Now for the close-up partnered dancing she'd have to try another trick. Smouldering made her think of David. Made her wonder what he was thinking. She'd invited him tonight with a few things in mind, most of which involved smouldering, but she didn't know how likely it was that he'd find all this appealing instead of just strange. She had to believe that her dressing up as a 40s-50s singing sensation was hot, not bizarre.

She had to stop her thoughts from going in circles like this. She was supposed to be going in circles, not her brain.

Deep breaths. Even if it did make the tux front expand a little. She focused on her partner, the steps, and how she imagined this would make David feel. How she hoped he would feel, at least. The way she imagined he would kiss her if this worked, soft lips mashed against hers. What his larger hands would feel like pressed to her sides, instead of Mikhail's delicate ones. How his hands would roll these form-fitting trousers down her hips, instead of how his fingers would untangle the shellac in her hair.

It helped. She was pretty sure it helped a lot because even the last of the ocean-like crowd murmur in her ears faded away and there was just the dance. And the performance. And then singing again, her lips shaping words and her throat shaping notes she didn't usually aim for, but it seemed like she was able to hit them.

Backstage, her throat regretted it. She gulped down a whole bottle of water in four or five long sips, then grabbed for the next. Everyone flowed around her in the green room, Keith congratulating her, the club manager, her co-stars. She said similar to them, she couldn't remember the exact words but she did remember asking Keith if David was in the audience.

"Yeah..." Keith had a tiny smile on his face that knew something. "You want me to send him in?"

"Please..."

Her hands fluttered over her hair. Still sharp and dry with a faint after-sensation of stickiness. Too much hair gel, or maybe just enough for the effect but too much for comfort. She smoothed the fabric of her suit jacket, grabbed a couple of tissues and wiped at the sweat pouring down from under her arms, then tossed those in the trash and grabbed another couple and started wiping the makeup from her face. She'd managed to clear her eyes when the door creaked open again and there was David, tall and broad and handsome and wide-eyed. Mouth slightly open as though he didn't know what to say. Neither did she.

It turned out, words weren't necessary.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he tasted of beer and something spicy barbecue like and, god, he felt so warm pressed up against her like he was even though she'd just been under the lights. His hands slid up and down along her back, then clutched her close. Which made her very clearly decide to hell with slow and shift her balance to one leg so she could wrap the other around his hip and pull him close.

When they pulled apart with a gasp he asked it. "Are you sure?"

She fought the urge to yank his face back down to hers. "I'm sure," she nodded, unable to keep the smirk from her lips. In lieu of yanking him back down for a kiss she curled her fingers into the waistband of his pants. "The door locks, you know."

David being David, he sputtered at that. Grinned, but also sputtered. She laughed.

And she didn't change before they drove back to his place. His place, not hers, because it was closer. She'd grabbed her stuff and made sure her purse was in with it and that was all she was really worried about because this was it, this was tonight. Their hands laced together the whole way home, squeezing tight and damp with sweat.

"Interesting performance," he managed finally, somewhere between the door and the bedroom. She managed to snag her purse in one hand, a strange contrast in the reflection of the glass, her slender but still masculine silhouetted appearance with the very feminine accessory.

She made a noncomittal noise, for the moment more concerned about moving them towards the bedroom. One hand still clung to his, but the other was busy opening the door, closing it behind them, fishing the condom out of her purse and then dropping it by the wayside as they toppled onto the bed. "Glad you liked it," she murmured finally, before she set about to the very serious business of undressing him.

They'd done some of this before. A little of this. A little of that. His fingers fumbled on her top mostly because the construction was so unfamiliar; her fingers flew with experienced assurance down his shirt, unbuttoning and flinging it aside. Between tops and bottoms they paused, arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled tight, and kissed. Again.

This, now, was familiar. The intensity of clutching to each other and it felt like her heart would burst out of her chest all of a sudden, one of those things that caught her at the strangest times. How precious this was. How long it had taken them to get there. How familiar it was to feel his chest against her bare breasts and the strength of his arms pressed one above the other on her back, and to feel safe. That was one of the things, one of many things that made this so much more heady and heated than it had been, this was safe. He was safe, and she had always thought safe wasn't exciting, safe was boring old married person sex, but he was still safe and this was still incredibly fucking hot.

They broke for air, kissed again, and broke for air again and after the third or fourth time as the initial surge died down, then she grinned. Flipped him over onto his back, which wasn't that hard since they were sides to the bed but still. She flipped him over and started undoing his pants.

"You su--" His voice choked off as her fingers slipped down his shorts. Oh yeah, she was sure. His pants, she realized, undid like hers. Maybe that was part of what her costume designer had meant. She wouldn't remember to ask about it later when she returned the things, possibly still reeking of sex if she didn't get them dry cleaned first but oh well. Not her fault her boyfriend made her damp in the pants, right?

"You want to ask me a few more times if I'm sure?" she teased, feeling his hands fumble at her slacks, too. "We could stop for a deep, meaningfu--" Her turn to get cut off as he slid a hand into her hair and yanked her down for a kiss. She laughed.

By necessity, she got his pants down first at least if not off. Had to keep batting his hands away from her pants until she finally took one wrist in each hand, her fingertips not even touching at the backs of his wrists, and put them against the pillow above his head. "Are you going to behave? Because if you're not..." she leaned her forehead down to his, watching his pale eyes widen. "I'm going to have to get creative."

Evidently all that male swagger and domineering confidence was carrying through the rest of the evening. Not that he seemed to mind.

"I'll be good," he promised, wide-eyed innocence that neither of them believed for a second.

But he did stop, giving her time to strip him more slowly and at their leisure. Touching, all down his legs and back up again, but keeping her fingers from anything resembling the sensitive spots. And then, hovering so close to him she was pretty sure he could feel the heat her body had to be exuding, she reached over for the condom on the bedside table.

This did nudge her confidence a little. The show of arrogance slipped a bit. She hadn't done this with him before, and somehow it was different. Special.

His hands slid up and down along her thighs, patient, mostly, as she unwrapped the foil and sorted out the condom so that it slid down easily. Despite the number of times she'd done this it still amazed her how firm and hot he was under her fingers. Her eyes narrowed and she focused on what she was doing, and when she looked back up he was grinning.

"Hang on a second..." One leg started moving under her; she blinked, shifted a bit so he could do whatever it was he was doing. Apparently kicking her top up so he could grab it with his fingertips. Her eyebrows shot up as he caught it, handed it back to her. "Put this back on."

She felt her lips stretch into a smirk. Or maybe a goofy grin. Hard to say without a mirror. Ooh, mirrors... "What, you want me to dress up?"

"You look good in it." He grinned back. "Doesn't have to be too snug."

So he could get his hands under, yeah, she knew what he was talking about. And she did, too. Slowly, because she had to take a couple seconds in between maneuvering the tuxedo top back on to rub her front against the underside of his cock. He bit on his lower lip and didn't say anything, but she felt his hips lift against hers once or twice.

"Better?"

He nodded, licking his lips. She felt her back draw up straight and proud as she lifted her hips, his eyes hungry and flickering over her body and back to her face. Taut nipples brushed the fabric of her tuxedo front; she didn't remember being so aware of how it felt. Licking her lips, she gave it a second's thought. This was the very last chance to back out of crossing this line with him.

His fingers pressed into her thigh as she lowered herself over him, making her body pretend to a confidence she didn't entirely feel. For the moment between sitting astride his upper thighs and feeling the latex-cooled tip of him penetrate her body she was all too aware of how young she was, how much older he was. And in the next second it didn't seem to matter. He was thick and slid easily into her and she felt the stretch and how tight she was and his hands clenched at her waist. Neither of them could quite focus their eyes, but they locked gazes anyway.

Her hips found a rhythm, up and down and deeper, forward, working herself over him until they were both, it seemed, tingling and panting. His fingers felt huge, his hands broad as they slid under the front of her costume, cupping her breasts. Thumbs tracing her nipples, warm and sweaty. It wasn't bad. It made her very conscious of how she must look, makeup still half on and hair slicked back. Caught between man and woman, riding him with his oh god big, thick cock inside her and, yeah, she was deliberately turning her thoughts pornographic because the whole perspective felt really damn good that way. She wanted to throw her head back and cry out and make it wild. Instead she flipped it around and made it controlled.

Her tiny hands circled his wrists and guided his hands over her chest, taking control of the sex. She managed to dredge up enough concentration from somewhere to squeeze her inner muscles, stroking him as she rode him. Her expression, probably not as much cool arrogance as she had been trying for in her performance, but somewhere between that and flushed, puffed out desire. Her whole body swelled with it. Wet between her legs and swollen, breasts swollen under his hands, lips. Everything feeling bigger than usual, and hot, and sweat pouring down her back and between her breasts.

The crest broke right about when he dropped his hands to clutch at her thighs and his rhythm sped up, more urgent. She bit her lip as he slammed into her once, twice, and then she was over the edge and barely conscious of his short, grunted breaths as he strained upward. The heated fullness had almost abated, leaving a cool tingling when he clutched her against him and came. And then they were both limp and soaked and ragged.

Veronica fell forward onto his chest, turning her head and pillowing her cheek on his sweaty body. His hand rubbed her thigh slow and gentle; it seemed all the movement he was capable of making. She understood; she wasn't much better off. Shifting her hips a little till he slid out of her before the condom wrinkled up and became useless while it might still be a problem. Then wriggling over to the side and now she was done moving for a while.

She couldn't resist the plucky, bad joke though. "So, what did you think of tonight's performance?" Her voice sounded high and thready even to her, but the words still made him laugh as he hugged her close. His laughter made her laugh, smile happily. And that was what mattered.