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chilling-seavey · 2 days ago

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Winter Warmers: Day 20 — Thigh Riding & Matching Pyjamas

↳ A/N: I got carried away with this one... Also, thank you to this anon who honestly helped inspire part of this idea!!

↳ Summary: A night of tea and reading only lasts for so long in your house.

↳ Word Count: 1747

↳ Warnings: 18+, thigh riding (duh), minor dirty talk, mentions of spit, ruining clothes...

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

George had never been that much of a reader but in the right moments, in the festively decorated living room, by the light of the fire and the glittering Christmas tree, with a mug of tea in hand and you tucked under his arm, nothing felt better than a good book. You both held a novel of your own in hands despite the way you were cuddled side by side, arms intertwined and balancing books and mugs, reading away. Only the crackling of the fireplace filled the serene night.

You had purchased your little family a matching set of Christmas pyjamas that year now that your son was somewhat old enough at almost two-years-old to fit into any of them. They were a wonderfully soft plaid of red and black, bottoms and a matching button up top, and the three of you looked straight out of a magazine when you wore them all together. The picture perfect family. It was something you had always dreamt of but never thought would be yours. Sometimes, life really did feel straight out of a novel.

George’s lips pressing against your temple in a warm kiss pulled you out of the pages of your book. You glanced at him from under his arm with a fond, “What was that for?”

He shrugged, lifting his mug of tea to his lips, “Nothing.”

You snuggled closer into his side and his arm instinctively wrapped tighter around you until his forearm was tucked across your chest. His book was closed in his hand, forgotten about. Yours, on the other hand, was still very much open and very much interesting to you, drawing your eyes back to the scene printed on the pages.

George read over your shoulder for a few moments before his fingers started wandering, caressing the soft material of your pyjama shirt until his thumb eventually found the bud of your nipple and he gave it a little swirl. You shifted to get him to move, your eyes still trained in on your page.

But you could feel his breath on your neck with how much you were snuggled up beside him and between that and his wandering fingers, he was quite distracting. George leaned in towards you, kissing absentmindedly at the shell of your ear, underneath, down your neck, in feather-soft touches. His lips were extra warm from his tea, almost hot against your skin.

“What’re you doing?” you mumbled, squirming as his ghostly kisses made you shiver.

“Nothing.” he repeated innocently.

“Liar.” you announced without tearing your eyes away from your page.

George gently pinched your nipple through your shirt. You flinched slightly, finally dropping your book so the pages straddled your thigh to keep your place, and you lolled your head back against his shoulder to look up at him with a pointed glare. He then kissed your nose, the apple of your cheek, the corner of your mouth that subsequently turned up at the corners at his affection.

You puckered out your lips a little, a silent invitation. George licked his own briefly and then pressed a proper kiss to your awaiting lips, sharing one then two then three.

“If you wanted attention, you could have just asked for it.” you reminded him.

“I didn’t want to interrupt; you looked so content.” protested George, his coy smile ever present on his handsome face.

You scoffed and leaned forward to set your book and your mug of tea down on the coffee table, “You definitely still interrupted.”

George’s mug and book joined yours and then you settled back under his arm, your hand falling naturally against the soft material of his plaid pyjama pants, right over his thigh. Your eyes met again, calm smiles, and then his hand reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear before trailing over your jaw.

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered adoringly.

You scoffed bashfully, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest whenever he complimented you, and your fingers gently scratched over his thigh in silent appreciation. With a shared smile, you whispered back to him, “I love you.”

George’s smile only widened, “I love you more.”

Your reply was almost immediate, fingers dipping along the inner seam of his plaid pants as you gazed into his eyes with a playful sparkle, “No, you don’t.”

He laughed lightly, nodding, “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

You were snuggled so close on the couch that you could feel his warm breaths falling against your cheek and when you turned to face him a little more, your leg draped over his and tucking between his knees, you could feel the momentary halt of his breath. His arm followed you around your shoulder, his eyes unwavering from your face like you were all he wanted to look at. His hand started to slowly rub up and down your bicep, creating a tingling sensual touch that had your heart flipping in your chest.

George’s voice was a little lower when he finally replied, deep and velvety right up against your ear, “I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, Mrs. Russell.”

The use of your married name never failed to turn you into putty in his hands and you broke into a bashful smile and hid your face in his neck. George just chuckled and took his arm from your shoulders to rub his large hand up and down your back lovingly while his other hand tangled in the back of your hair to keep you snuggled close.

After just a moment, you pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes again. There was so much to read behind his irises as he gazed at you like that in the warmth of the living room. Your fingers found home in the fabric of his pyjama shirt, right over his heart, rubbing gentle circles as you shared a loving gaze by the firelight. His hand slid from your hair to gently trace your jaw, slender fingers lingering at your chin to keep your face turned upwards towards his as his eyes flitted down to your lips.

He took your chin between thumb and forefinger with a gentle tug just as he leaned in to meet you halfway, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. You inhaled sharply into the kiss, your hand flying from his chest to grab the side of his neck to keep his lips on yours. You met his eager pace with ease, even as his tongue pushed its way into your mouth.

In the dizziness of his kiss, you could barely acknowledge his hand sliding down your back and over the curve of your ass in those plaid pyjama bottoms. He pulled away just enough to drop his palm down in a lazy smack. Your leg nudged up higher between his, body turning a little more until your crotch was just about pressed against the side of his thigh.

George pulled away after a moment, greedy hands grabbing your hips to almost pull you onto his lap. You moved with his demands without protest, soon straddling his thigh with your arms strewn around his shoulders, pressed chest to chest, breathing in anticipation into each other’s mouths. His hands groped your ass over your pants that matched his, his voice a dreamy whisper, “Let’s ruin these.”

It was almost a promise, the way he said it, so demanding and needy all in the same. You could only lean down to swallow it up with your lips, tasting his pretty sounds with your tongue as he moaned into your mouth. His hands pulled you closer at the same time, forcing you to rut against his muscular thigh through the layers of fabric between you. The friction was sizzling.

When you pulled away to breathe, a thin string of spit connected your lips for a brief moment before breaking between you. Your hands pressed down flat against his chest, pushing yourself up to square your shoulders on his lap, giving yourself more of a leverage to start to grind on his thigh a little stronger. George just gaped up at you for a moment, hands on your waist and only barely helped guide you along because you know exactly what you want and he would always be more than willing to let you do just that.

He could just never get enough of you—you brought out the selfishness in him to an extreme—and so his hands moved to start to unbutton your pyjama top. You didn’t stop the gyrations of your hips, far too into the friction to stop, letting him do as he pleased as he finally pulled open your shirt to reveal your bare chest beneath. His hands went first, groping your breasts in his warm palms as if he were trying to pull you into your motions that way. The tightness of his grip had you gasping faintly, hips jumping against his thigh, fingers grasping onto the front of his shirt.

“That’s it,” George breathed lowly, his voice rich and addicting with his eyes all over you, “Christ, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

And then his mouth was on your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as his strong arms wrapped around you to help move you faster. He moaned against your breast, coating you in spit and kisses over your flushed skin, bodies moving together in a dire need to get off.

He kept you grinding on his thigh until you were so sensitive that you were nearly crying, his shirt wrinkled and stretched from how you tugged mercilessly at it, wanting more, more, more. A little praise and a little dirty talk from your husband helped to finish you off, speaking to you in a low, rumbling whisper of how beautiful you were, how much you turned him on, how much he wanted to see you come all over his thigh.

When you collapsed against his chest in tremors of pleasure, he held you close and kissed your temple, telling you how much he loved you into your hair. After all that, you had honestly soaked through your brand new pyjama pants and left a wet spot on his at the same time. But if that wasn’t enough, only minutes later, his shirt was also victim as he came up the front of it by your hand, staining the dark red and black plaid in creamy white.

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chilling-seavey · 3 days ago

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Winter Warmers: Day 19 — Holiday Magic

↳ A/N: Inspired by a childhood memory of my own <3

↳ Summary: Your son is determined to stay up to see Santa no matter how much you and George try to persuade him...but the power of Christmas magic outshines your parenting.

↳ Word Count: 506

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

“You have to go to bed soon, mate.” George pleaded gently with your son for the nth time that evening.

In his red and white plaid pyjamas, the four-year-old was sitting on the couch with his little hands folded on his lap like he was in a formal meeting. His legs could barely reach over the edge of the seat to bend at his knees, making him look like the sweetest little sight.

“I can’t.” the little boy insisted like his father was pitching the most ridiculous idea known to man. “I want to stay up and see Santa.”

“Santa won’t come if you’re awake.” you reminded him gently from the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed casually over your chest.

Your son pursed his lips and looked between you and George, debating. But the fireplace across the modest room kept stealing his attention, the four stockings aligned empty on the mantle above the empty fireplace below. Any moment that night, Santa would drop down that very chimney and into that fireplace and he wanted to be the first person to greet him. Obviously.

“Come on, buddy.” George held his hand out to him, “Let’s go brush your teeth and get you into bed.”

“Noo, Daddy.” he pouted up at him, jamming his folded hands between his legs to emphasise his insistence of not taking his father’s hand.

George sighed and set his hands on his hips, glancing over to you in slight exasperation. You just pulled your lips in a line and offered a small shake of your head.

Wanting to support your husband in his efforts, you spoke to your son, “Your sister is already fast asleep and ready for Santa to come. The faster you go to bed too, the faster he can come and leave your presents.”

“He knows when you’re sleeping and he knows when you’re awake, remember?” George added.

Despite your best efforts, your son was not moving. Well, that was until there was the faintest sound from the rear of the house. It sounded like the faint tinkle of jingle bells, just far enough away to sound like they were flying above the house. To you and George, as adults, you knew it was just the heater turning on and blowing its first gust on the string of jingle bells on the back doors. To your little boy, however, that was most definitely Santa’s sleigh.

His big blue eyes were as wide as saucers, looking up at George to see if he had heard it too. But before he could even open his mouth, your son was clamouring off the bed and rushing past you out of the room, “Night night!”

You and George exchanged amused glances and you stepped aside to let him follow after your son who was hightailing it up the stairs.

“Bathroom for teeth brushing!” George called up after him as he reached the stairs himself.

“There’s no time!” your son protested from upstairs. “Santa’s here I need to be in bed!”

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