I’ve never written smut before
I cut it while it was still clean enough that i felt comfortable posting it because amg i’ve never done anything like this before and i don’t want to completely overwhelm/humiliate myself the first time…. I didn’t make it any farther than kissing, really. but it’s a start. You have to start somewhere.
and yes MV, i am a sissy. i’ll go farther some other time maybe perhaps ormaybenotbecauseomgi’mblushingsohardrightnow
and uh, it makes for a better reading experience if you set the blog player to something cheery.
Wheatley set Chell down inside the doors of their home, both their faces flushed with the excitement of so many well-wishers, who had turned up for their wedding, and then seen them all the way to the door. She glanced over her shoulder at the face of her new husband, as he waved to throng of townspeople with the hand holding the suit jacket he had just removed. He was so different than when she had found him, weak, scared, naked and alone. He hadn’t even known how to walk, and when he had first tried, his unused legs had crumpled weakly beneath him. That first day, when they had finally staggered out of aperture together, him leaning heavily on her shoulders, had been the first time he’d seen the sun. In the three years since they had left aperture together he had had to learn so much, but she had grown with him in many ways. Not remembering her own childhood, his constant naiveté about the world had opened her eyes to the way he saw the world, big and bright and full of beautiful things. And then, she had realized slowly, ever so slowly, that out of all of those beautiful things, he considered her the most beautiful. Wheatley hadn’t said anything, not at first, anyhow, but sometimes she would catch him looking, after he had dragged her out of the house to look at a sunset, she would catch him looking at her instead with the same rapt expression, the same baited breath and bewilderingly appreciative grin. And after a while, despite everything that had happened between them, Chell just couldn’t find it in her heart to treat him with the cold, dispassionate silence that had been her only defense for so long.
“Well, Mrs. Michelle Johnson,” His Bristol accent was so, so familiar, after all, he rarely stopped talking for anything. “What do you think of that name then?”
She turned around, pulling him down to her height by his bow tie, untying it in the process. Their lips met for the umpteenth time that day, but unlike the kisses they had exchanged earlier in the presence of onlookers, this one was slow and wet and lingering. Chell bit at his lower lip, her tongue tracing over his slightly-chapped lips. She slid her hands back from the side of his face to his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his head, slipping under the collar of his shirt to trace the outline of the steel port on the back of his neck. Blue shone through her eyelids, the light shining through Wheatley’s own closed eyes, intensifying with the rise in his pulse. He held her to him in his strong arms, almost holding her off the ground.
Their mouths broke apart and she looked down as the blue light shining from under his shirt faded, and he pressed his lips against her forehead. She slid her hands from the back of his collar to the front, undoing each of the buttons of his white collar shirt. She unfastened the last of the buttons, working the tucked-in shirt out from under his belt with her fingers. Wheatley pushed his forehead against hers, nuzzling her, begging for her lips again. She didn’t hold back. He broke away from her lips, nibbling his way along her jawline before burying his face in the crook of her neck. She flinched slightly as his thick sideburns tickled the underside of her chin. He made his way back up slowly, stopping to bite gently at her earlobe before making his way back to her mouth. She pressed against her husband, backing him up a few steps until the backs of his knees collided with the edge of the sofa and he lost his balance.
Wheatley and Chell fell together onto the couch. She felt him run his hands up the sides of her dress, around the back, and then heard the zipper as he unfastened the white lace gown. He grinned at her when he reached the bottom, as she fixed his glasses for him. “Thanks, luv,” his voice was catching, and the ‘luv’ trailed out in a small, giddy hiccup. “I wouldn’t want to miss this view.” He tucked piece of her hair that had loosened itself from the bun behind her ear, following the curve of her head back with his fingertips and pulling out the jawed clip that held her thick dark hair in place. No longer held together by the zipper, the dress fell around her body, sitting around her waist like the petals of a white rose, as her dark hair tumbled down around her face and shoulders in thick locks. Wheatley pulled her in to another kiss, this time letting his hands play down her back, pausing to unhook her bra, and down and around to her hips, then he pulled them back around, up her stomach, gently running his fingers across her bare skin. She took her turn leaving his lips, burying her face in the warm blue light that emanated from his chest.
The fingers of her right hand traced their way gently down the scars across his chest, the product of about thirty-odd surgeries he had had as a child. She had been there, he said. Wheatley had only been 12 when they put him in the core. In a lot of ways he was still such a child inside, despite the fact that he was physically in his mid-thirties, and had spent god-only-knew how long conscious through a remotely run robotic personality sphere. She pulled back from him, staring at his face, questioningly, hesitant. But the smile that broke across his face as he looked up at her was not only reassuring- it was contagious. The pause lasted a little longer, and then he reached out and ruffled her hair. She batted him away playfully, standing up to gather up the dress. Wheatley got up and followed her and she caught him lightly with a fistful of white taffeta. “Oh now you’re asking for it, luv,” he chuckled, as she scampered giggling into their room. Chell had just enough time to toss the dress on the cabinet before he caught her, his momentum sending them both tumbling, laughing, onto the bed.