Wedding Rehersal
By Missy

SERIES: Wedding Rehearsal
PART: one of one
Author: Missy
Email: HIMH@aol.com
RATING: NC-17 (M/F; oral, rom cons)
PAIRING(s): Duh!

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask (Please Email Me), but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

DISCLAIMER: Laverne and Shirley, of course, not my property and belongs to its creators.

CATEGORY: Smut
CANNON/SPOILERS: Place it into the post-California cannon
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Who said you can't practice for your wedding night?
NOTES: I thought I'd throw out a little bit of lighthearted smut out there to compare to what I did last week *chuckles*

***

Well, at least she knew that he liked the negligee.

She had wondered if the little, white, lacy thing really suited her personality. Shirley had insisted that she should wear something white for her wedding night, properly befitting her virginal status.

What Shirley didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Lenny had been over to pick up the directions to the men's shop; he didn't want to rent something cheap for the big day. That sort of sweetness made Laverne melt inside; he normally wouldn't care, but for her he would sacrifice a lovely Saturday afternoon.

She just happened to be in the negligee when he came by. OK, she had, girlishly, been marching before her mirror that evening, humming the wedding march to herself. That was something babyish, something that felt a little bit dreamy. As Shirley would've done. But being a good girl had been hard enough, but now that she had hooked her a nice fish, she might as well give him an extra treat.

From the way he stared, with an open mouth and saucer-wide eyes, she knew she had made the right impression.

He coughed, taking the directions she had written out meticulously for him and excusing himself. She slipped between his body and the door.

"Len? Can you stay?" She bent, deliberately naughty, showing him that she wore nothing beneath the negligee.

He gulped, and could.

She straightened up and kissed his lips.

Something drove her in that moment; drove her to embrace his body to her form and respond to his insistent grasp.

She wanted him.

He broke the kiss, "You don't wanna wait?"

She shook her head, her freshly-washed hair shining in a coppery way. "I just.." She shook her head, all thought driven away by lust. "It's just two days."

He laughed happily, scooping her up from the floor and carrying her to the couch.

There was no way for him to know that she had been thinking about this for years, since their first drunken groping, through the frustrating nights at Inspiration Point filled with heavy petting but nothing more. She wasn't a tease (not like Shirley, she thought arrogantly to herself).

As he doffed his Lone Wolf Jacket and yanked away his tee-shirt, she busied herself with his belt. Suddenly, she flashed back to her first time; Fonzie (wasn't he every girl's first in the entire state of Milwaukee?) in the back seat of a Caddy. It had been painful, imperfect, but thrilling, because she was breaking three of Pop's rules and one of the Church's. The second time, she knew something was wrong but couldn't put her finger on it, and by the third time, after a little self-exploration, she knew exactly what was wrong.

Poor Fonzie. All of that animal magnetism and he didn't know a clitoris from a carburetor.

Lenny knew, mostly because she had been as direct with him as possible during their petting sessions, but also because he worshipped her body with the thoroughness of a supplicant. Maybe the force of attraction between she and Lenny was stronger than it had been between she and Fonzie. Or maybe it was the fact that she had no real love for Fonzie; only a little spark that had withered with time, a few friendly feelings and a whole lot of hero worship.

The belt slipped from it's hitching.

Their hands tangled on Lenny's fly; she slipped loose its button and he unzipped the fly, and together they worked him free from his denim restraints. He was so happy that he was almost giggling.

Laverne grabbed Lenny by his boxer shorts and pulled him downward, on top of her body.

They tangled in ecstasy, his tongue entering her mouth, causing everything below her neck to buck in enthusiasm. They writhed, trying to find a comfortable position, though the couch barely allowed them both room. He almost tilted them both off of the thing before he caught the edge of one of the cushions and pulled her back on.

He glanced up from where they lay and asked, "Chair?"

She nodded, "Chair". For some reason, she thought it might be easier that way.

He, nude except for his motorcycle boots and red boxers(which he swiftly stripped off), settled into the chair, watching her approach with a huge smile.

Laverne grinned back; her own self-consciousness dissolving. Somehow, it seemed natural to be naked in front of Lenny; with Fonzie, there had been a billion or so who had preceded her, and she knew that he judged her against them.

She tugged down the negligee's silken strap, revealing a tanned shoulder, then the other. Lenny wasn't perfect; not an Adonis with perfect teeth, certainly not Italian. His lightly-tanned skin glowed in the half-light of the room; she could make out the solid heft of his erection; not jaw-droppingly scary as Fonzie's had been, but so much a part of Lenny that she loved it with a stronger intensity. As if it understood where her mind had been, his cock jerked appreciatively, hardening further.

Those eyes..those blue eyes, which pierced her soul and seemed to pin her to the wall...They traced the fall of her negligee with open, honest need. They took in her plump breasts (plump, not full, she knew), her dark, full nipples...falling over the shadow of her abdomen, which never seemed to know what to surrender to, the scooter pies or her constant exercise, and finally the thick, gingery thatch that marked her as a woman.

She stepped out of the silky pile on the floor, and he held out his arms. She climbed into his lap and entangled her tongue with his own.

Somehow, Laverne had forgotten his lips; his sweet, soft lips, which were an enviable pleasure to kiss.

His right hand, which easily swallowed up the width of her breast, cupped the left. Careful not to be too rough, he massaged them; tiny noises issued from the back of her throat, indicating how much she liked it. Everyone else had been too rough with her, fast, but Lenny lingered over her.

Her fingers tangled in the barely-visible hair on his chest as she shifted, staddling his legs and leaning backward against his chest, giving him access to the front of her body.

Lenny never stopped kissing her, even as his callused hands gently explored her breasts, and the firm, solid impression of her nipples. Laverne ground herself against Lenny's thighs, moistening, wanting to pleasure him. He kissed her, expressing his hunger through the power of his tongue.

Laverne shifted, spreading her legs wider, wanting his hands at a more crucial juncture. Lenny took her hint, smiling as his fingers trailed down her abdomen, teasing, just brushing her mons before returning to her breast.

She didn't know when he had become such a tease. His usual directness quickly emerged and Lenny's right hand reached her soft mound.

Laverne hissed around his tongue, surprising him by getting off of his lap and sitting at the edge of the coffee table. There, she spread her legs, revealing a bright pink center slick with desire.

Lenny smirked, Laverne was always a step ahead. From this position he could touch her and she could touch him, which she reached over and did so...his thigh, not anything harder or in more crucial need.

He groaned and she smiled.

By the time she reached his erection he already had three fingers busy within her walls; two within her, a third gently stroking her clit. Laverne enthusiastically pumped her hips against his thrusting fingers as she played with his painfully tumescent erection. Gently tugging one last time at his beautiful cock, she reclined across the coffee table.

"Now?" He asked, rising above her.

"Now." She gasped, feeling him nudging against her. "It don't matter; I just got off the rag last week."

Lenny laughed to himself, sinking head-deep into her softness.

"What's so funny?"

He wriggled his fuzzy brow. "I, Lenny, take Laverne..." He recited dramatically, and she sunk her nails into his buttocks. He yelped, driving himself into her a few more inches. "La-verne!" He whined.

She kissed his chin. "Sorry, Len." Wiggling beneath him, feeling what little she had of him inside. "More?"

Without preamble, he drove himself into her fully. That one action drove the breath, mutually, from their lungs.

Suddenly, the mood turned serious. Lenny cupped her face, kissing her swollen mouth. "So good," He whispered reverently. She held him completely, and she, in turn, could feel herself to stretch. Suddenly, she realized that her years of abstinence and Lenny's surprising girth had spread her open as she hadn't been before; she clung to him so tightly that his first withdrawal felt like something of her own person being removed.

He kissed her open mouth, swiftly driving himself within her softness. His inexperience showed in the untutored way he moved his hips; with Fonzie, it had been regular, like screwing a metronome. Laverne swung her hips against Lenny's, trying to figure out a rhythm; his eyes widened, and joined her in the blissful expression of need.

They lasted that way for what seemed like centuries; each thrust of his body within hers so true that Laverne wanted to sob her joy at each penetration.

Eventually, it culminated; she could feel her body stiffening in pleasure, and she clutched his forearms, urging him silently onward. Suddenly, he was there with her; swelling within, lengthening. He gasped, looked into her eyes; then they fell closed, as did hers.

Never, in Laverne's entire experience, had she experienced an orgasm with a man. She should have known that, with Lenny, everything was possible.

She spasmed deeply, causing throaty groans and words of love to issue from her throat; those contractions encouraging his own, the hot flow of his passion obliterating everything but their union.

From a great distance Laverne heard him murmur her name, then God's...sinking onto her prone, vulnerable body. To her surprise, the cheap table held them both up.

Laverne kissed Lenny's forehead, cuddling him like a big teddy bear.

"Gee, Vernie," He grinned, weakly this time. "Does this mean we're married now?"

Lavene smiled, "Yeah, I think so." She kissed his forehead, "I love you, Len."

"Love you, Vernie." He echoed.

Somewhere, a church bell tolled. It was four-thirty.