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Getting past Emma's hang-ups about pretty much anything that stains or smells or has the ability to leave an unwanted trail on Emma's clothes or skin or general possessions is a tricky, tricky thing.
You have to start off easy, get her worked up. Will has an advantage there in that she's easy to read, has been since Will became fully aware of the way she saw him. So many looks make so much more sense now. He's careful, but it always helps to leave the more phobia-triggering things for later, when Emma's panting, head tilted back on the couch, eyes firmly set on the ceiling while Will kneels on the floor and mouths at her clit through the soaked cotton of her panties.
It's small things still, baby steps. They started out in the bedroom in his new, temporary apartment, sheets fresh out of the laundry and new ones at the ready, Emma completely naked and shivering in a mix of agitation and encouragement and want. They took a shower together afterwards, and he only noticed two little whimpers of fear after he dropped to his knees and joined the stream of water in licking her clean.
The things he thinks about, wishes they could do, are dirtier than this, but he knows better than to force her into anything. He also knows the only way she'll ever not panic at the prospect of having him come all over her—"Just because I'm in love with you doesn't mean I can deal with—you know, those things. Love doesn't override everything," she said when he implied it, so he hasn't mentioned that's his long-term goal again—is overcoming smaller obstacles first.
The slow approach has its perks, too; he has to stay alert when Emma's around, when they're touching, when he's even just looking at her, and everything is so vivid he has to make a concerted effort not to get turned on in the middle of a school hallway or somewhere else he definitely shouldn't be.
This, though, this has dick straining against his jeans and his thighs twitching. He's kneeling on the floor, coffee table pushed out of the way, holding up a thin brush and unable to stop looking at Emma. She's lying on a dark brown, almost black blanket on the floor, wearing only a pair of pink underwear and a shirt that's halfway off, fully exposing her chest. Her skin is pale and beautiful, covered by the thinnest sheen of sweat, and her belly quivers when Will runs a hand along her thigh, over her ribs, before closing in on one of her tits. Her hips jerk at the contact, and he smirks at her, enjoying the way her blush extends over her cheeks, such a ridiculous turn-on.
She's already come once, and he wishes he could just straddle her chest and fuck her tits, relieve some of the pressure. Instead, he bucks into the hand she's laid over his dick, the friction barely existent through the thick material of his pants, and dips the brush into the bowl of warm, melted chocolate he's set just within reach, a few inches away from the edge of the blanket. Her eyes flicker to his hand, face apprehensive as he swirls the brush to gather the thick liquid and avoid any chocolate drops ending up where they don't belong.
She barely blinks through the process, and he wishes they were at an advanced enough stage that he could blindfold her.
"Close your eyes," he says instead. Emma bites her lip and breathes in deep, chest heaving and nipples hardening even more at the movement, and nods nervously, but shuts her eyes, tight at first, more comfortable after a few seconds go by and nothing traumatic happens.
He moves carefully over her, and she gasps in surprise at the first swing of the brush over her nipple, eyes flying open again.
It's okay, though; he wants her to see this part.
He draws his glance away from her face and focuses on the task at hand. It's just this, just her nipples she's said yes to, and he does his best to keep the dark chocolate from falling down the swell of her breasts. He paints one chunky dot over her areola, sweeping the bristles of the brush over her nipple regularly as he goes to make sure she's still on board with this, to hear her breath catch in her throat, to hear her whimper.
"You okay there?" he asks, and she raises her eyebrows in affirmation, so set on not moving at all.
He does her other nipple a little more quickly and leaves the brush inside the bowl, still at a conscientious distance. He slips a leg between hers, and her thighs spread to accommodate him before instinctively closing in again at the first press of his knee on her pussy. It's kind of amazing, the way Emma reacts visibly to the smallest things, the way she gives consent so clearly and it doesn't take away from the situation at all. Her breasts wobble a little when he rubs his knee against her, and the contrast, that darkest chocolate gleaming over her pale, rosy skin—it's incredibly tempting, makes it so difficult to take things slow when everything she does makes her look like a fucking wet dream.
Just leaning over her earns him a choked moan, and he keeps eye contact as his mouth gets closer to Emma's skin. He watches the worry and overpowering yearning at the first flick of his tongue, and then he stops looking and closes his lips over her chocolate-covered nipple, sucking hard.
Her hips buckle up again and again as he licks the chocolate off her nipples, eventually slowing down and rolling steadily instead, little sighs coming out of her mouth at every touch of his tongue, when he wraps his hand around the sides of her breasts and squeezes gently, every single time he groans and rubs up against her bare leg, unable to help himself, glad he kept the jeans on so it wouldn't bother her.
He nibbles at the skin around her swollen nipple when he's done, licking a few drops of chocolate off his upper lip while looking straight into her eyes, and her jaw drops a little, just enough to make him think about her sucking the head of his cock in, something she's definitely not going to do this time unless he's willing to wait for her to run into the shower first, which he's really, really not.
He doesn't even realize he's rutting up against her until he feels more than hears himself groan, the sound ripping out of his throat like he's in pain instead of just desperate to get off, and she looks surprised when she hears it, too, like she's not aware how hot she looks like this, how goddamned exposed and enticing and completely impossible to resist.
They lock eyes again, and he keeps eye contact all the way this time, holds her gaze as he bites at her chest, zeroing in on her other nipple and feeling the movement of her hips get slightly out of control before he tongues it, swallows the chocolate that sticks to his tongue and goes for it again, squeezing her breasts with his hands as he sucks on her nipple with his lips.
Emma's eyes go blank and her head hits the floor with a dry thump, her orgasm hitting hard and sudden, making her legs flail and accidentally stroke Will's dick through his jeans, so close and not close enough, so desperate he doesn't think, just undoes the button on his jeans and pushes them all the way down, relieved he took his boxers off while Emma settled on the blanket. He wraps his hand around himself and strokes a few times, and it can't be more than five before he's spilling all over her, white streaks of come marking her hips and stomach, the knowledge that he just did this—that he just came over her and she's not freaking out, too blissed out to freak out, too distracted, he doesn't know—almost enough to make him black out, definitely enough to make him collapse on the blanket next to her, their legs still tangled together.
"Um," he hears after a while, and has to make an effort to prop himself up on an elbow. She's grimacing, purposely not looking at anything but his face. He feels exhausted, but not exhausted enough to let her suffer. "Okay, I think I really need that shower now."
The breathy laugh that comes out of him is unexpected, but what really surprises him is hearing Emma chuckle along as she stands to her feet, her panic not bad enough yet to keep her from seeing the humor in the situation.
It's tricky, getting past Emma's hang-ups, but so, so worth it.