Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5050288.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_00
  Relationship:
      Neil_x_Feldt
  Character:
      Feldt_Grace, Lockon_Stratos/Neil_Dylandy
  Additional Tags:
      Drunk_Sex, Age_Difference, 14-Year-Old/24-Year-Old, Wall_Sex, Zero-
      gravity_sex, Lemon, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Gundam_00_Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-22 Words: 1623
****** Feel ******
by Omnicat
Summary
     Drunk Lockon doesn’t know what he’s doing, but neither does sober
     Felt. The feelings he awakens in her are as intoxicating as any
     liquor.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Felt panted. Her arms floated at her sides, her body limp, and her eyes, wide
and unseeing, were on the ceiling. Zero gravity prevented her knees from
buckling, but it was him who made her feel heavy, weak. Felt tried to be numb
to the sensations, but she had never had physical contact this intimate before,
hadn’t had much physical contact at all for as long as she could remember, it
was just so much and she had never felt like this before and it felt... good.

"L - Lockon?" She felt a hand on her behind, strong fingers at the nape of her
neck holding her head up, and a pair of lips worked its way along her jaw.
"Locko-oh..."

Felt moaned faintly, her eyes closing. Her lower body was pressed into hot and
firm planes and angles, her upper body curved to expose her neck, her skin
tingling where a lapping tongue and sucking mouth had left a trail of saliva;
there was a sensitive spot she had never known about right next to her
windpipe.

"You have too many clothes..." he murmured indistinctly, his hand sliding down,
then up, then down again, from her hairline to her shoulderblade to her upper
arm to her collarbone to the zipper of her yellow over-suit, between her
breasts. "They’re in the way."
Lockon’s intoxication was palpable in the fumbling of his hand, audible in the
slurr of his voice, proven by the smell of sweet brandy hanging around him like
a cloud, clogging her nostrils and drowning out the scent of his body.

"In the... way? Lockon -"

Felt trembled all over. Keeping her body still under his hands and lips was
self-inflicted torture, but she didn’t dare move. His chin heavy on her
shoulder and his breath hot against the back of her neck, Lockon slowly,
torturously, pulled the zipper down, through the valley of her breasts, across
the expanse of her stomach, until there was no more to zip. His hand hit the
belt around her waist and fumbled with it, his knuckles ghosting over her
abdomen as if to tease her. The belt went sailing across the room and his hands
brushed along her hips and disappeared inside her suit, underneath her purple
turtleneck undershirt, creaping up, up, and up.

"In the way..." he breathed against her skin.

Felt was a smart girl. She caught on to things quickly. She had known this to
be a bad idea from the very start. Lockon had sought solace in Ms Sumeragi’s
liquor cabinet before she, Felt, had been able to leave the bridge and offer it
to him, which should have been enough. It should have ended with that. He
shouldn’t need her anymore, shouldn’t have pulled her inside or locked the door
or pulled her closer to him than was appropriate for friends. But he had. His
intentions were clear, and Felt was all too inclined to imagine ahead of his
real actions. She had detected butterflies in her stomach ever since Lockon had
told her his true name, had felt unbidden thoughts and fantasies evade her
mind, and she had nutrured them, against her own better judgement, thinking
herself safe in the knowledge that nothing would come of it, just wanting to
feel.

Her breasts sprang free from the confines of her shirt and bounced up and down
in the weightless atmosphere. Lockon pushed the over-suit from her shoulders,
out of the way, and cupped the soft flesh greedily, nudging one of her pigtails
aside to gain access to her neck.
"Lockon!" Felt gasped, eyelids fluttering and mind reeling. She’d been wrong.
But if wrong was false, did that make it right? No, it wasn’t right, it
couldn’t be. Lockon was tall and muscular and strong, in his twenties, if not
thirties. Felt, for all her prodigous brilliance, was small and frail, fourteen
years old, unworldly and inexperienced and she couldn’t remember feeling
anything this intense ever before.

"That’s better."

His hands were large and her breasts were small; he kneaded for only a few
moments before abandoning that course of action. She squeezed her eyes shut,
feeling her body aching, arching, trying to regain contact with him, as if with
his touches and kisses he had created a magnet inside her that was drawn to him
and only him. The feeling ignited in the split second before his hands
returned, but it exploded when he lifted her up by the waist and pinned her to
the wall, sending shockwaves of liquid fire from the place where his fingers
touched her bare skin, looping through the pit of her stomach before flaring
out to her toes and the tips of her fingers and the roots of her hair.
Felt cried out - "Lockon!" -, her eyes flying open when the lips that had
disappeared from her earlobe descended on her breast. She could feel his mouth,
hot and wet around one nipple, his tongue twisting circles around the bud, and
his thumb on the other, mirroring the movements of his tongue.

This was wrong, there was no way this was right, but it felt so good. The
tingling of her skin, the fluttering in her lower belly, the warm pulse between
her legs, the aching for closeness - the sensations were foreign, intoxicating,
mind-numbing. She was like a moth drawn to a flame, a leaf pulled along by a
current, a deer paralyzed by the headlights, a star caught in the gravity of a
black hole. If she let him do this, a remnant of reason in the back of her mind
knew, she would be scorched, she would drown, she would be crushed and
swallowed whole, this was wrong! But the pull was already too strong, it was so
hard to think clearly, it felt so good...

"So good..." he echoed. She felt the words - lips drawing tantalizing patterns
on her breast and sending vines of elextricity to her groin - more than she
heard them. Lockon’s free hand moved from Felt’s waist to her hip, on along her
thigh, to the back of her knee, and pulled her leg up around him, and it felt
so right, it felt so good.

And Felt collapsed onto him, wrapping both legs tightly around his waist,
throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his hair. He stumbled
backwards and instinctively brought his arms around her as she curled up
against him. She could feel a bulge beneath his belt and wriggled down against
it, drawing a hiss from him even as she herself gasped from the results of the
friction.

Steadying his wobbling, he pulled her tightly against him and crushed her
breasts against his collar bone when he smacked her back against the wall with
an audible thump. He forcefully tangled a hand into her hair, undoing her
pigtails in the process, forced her head up while tilting his own down, and
caught her mouth in a hot, wet kiss.

Lightning struck. Or at least that was what the small part of Felt that was not
filled with a blinding white light imagined must have happened, given how
impossible it had seemed, even mere moments before, when the novel sensations
overwhelmed her, for such a small, simple touch to have such enormous effects.

She could smell alcohol, and for a moment the thought crossed Felt’s mind that
while it had taken two bottles and half a glass for it to strip Lockon of his
inhibitions, the smell alone had been enough for it to conquer her. But then
Lockon’s tongue forced its way into her awe-slackened mouth and started running
along the inside of her lips, and all else disappeared from her mind.

Rationality, caution and conscious thought fled before the onslaught of sensory
experiences, making her mind and memory hazy and leaving her body to be
operated by her most primal instincts. Later, she would remember flashes; her
own tongue coming out to meet his, burying her fingers into his hair, his hard
chest flush against her as he rubbed his groin against hers, his hands all over
her hips and legs as he unfastened her boots, bare thighs wrapped around his
naked chest, fingers inside her panties, inside her, banging her head against
the wall in sink with the grinding of the palm of his hand into her mons
veneris, tasting herself on his fingers right before realising he’d dropped his
pants at last, a feeling like blacking out when he filled her in one swift,
fluid motion, because she was so far gone that pain and pleasure no longer had
a deviding line, panting, gasping, moaning, whimpering, screaming, rasping
"Neil, Neil, Neil" over and over again as he continued to pound in and slide
out and thrust her further into the throws of extacy, coming to on a sofa,
Lockon’s arm draped over her shoulders and goosebumps lining her skin.

She extracted herself from his loose hold carefully and held on to the sofa as
not to float away. Looking down on the unconscious Gundam Meister she felt such
a jumble of emotions that it was impossible to determine which feelings were
dominant. She was exhausted, felt sticky, and her pubic area throbbed painfully
when she moved her legs, but she forced herself to dress properly and redo her
hair, so no-one would notice anything had happened. With any luck, Lockon would
not remember what they had done when he woke up.

She dressed him, too, even locating the gloves and jacket he had discarded
before she arrived. Her hand lingered on his cheek before she left to get a
long shower and disappear into her quarters. With any luck, Lockon would think
it had been but a dream. 
End Notes
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