rae

NHL

emmitt finnie

exes that are really bad at being exes - smut - you meet by chance at a bar, both single, both still in love. so naturally you end up in his apartment, saying things you should not have been thinking while you were with other people

a griffin's purgatory - fluff - emmitt gets reassigned to the griffin's and he's less than thrilled

down, boy - smut - your new heels weren't much of a thrilling purchase to you, until you put them on in front of Emmitt, and he couldn't control himself.

lucas raymond

min lilla ylva - smut - lucas likes your nails, specifically when you're under him and they're dug into his back. the marks you leave, well those are just his trophy for treating you right

twin bed - smut - spending time in sweden with lucas was exciting, especially meeting his family. until lucas decided he wanted more than just a good night's sleep on his childhood twin mattress.

simon edvinsson

hockey hands - smut - you were obsessed with simon's hands, which led to you finding out a few things about yourself.

bloody knuckles - smut - simon's fight with brady tkachuk stirred some pretty intense feelings that he couldn't just push away

a spot in his heart - smut/fluff- you were anxious to tell simon you were a virgin, but you weren't expecting the sweet response he'd have for you

high stakes - smut - as simon's best friend, you always came to team parties with him. this one was no different. except that you two tried smoking together, and suddenly years worth of walls came crumbling down between you.

tastefully tailored - smut - simon was a big guy, that much was plainly obvious. but just how big was he under the belt? that was for him to know, and you to find out, in a way that revealed some things he wasn't prepared for.

exchange student - smut - visiting your childhood friend Simon in Detroit was supposed to be fun and nostalgic, until you asked him to show you a thing or two.

lesson two - smut - after your little "lesson" with Simon, you aren't satisfied with just a 101. (part 2 of "exchange student")

jag älskar dig - fluff - simon has the worst day, and he learns that it's okay to not be okay all the time.

recovery day - fluff - after a night at the bar, simon tries to carry your drunk self home. but you refuse to let him pick you up, and he can tell it's not as simple as you make it seem. so he decides to prove just how capable he is.

connor bedard

sweet dreams - smut - connor's roadie left him exhausted, annoyed, and terribly horny. what else was he to do when he walked into his apartment to see you fast asleep in his bed?

little black dress - smut - it was all star weekend, and connor brought you as his plus one. seeing you in your dress left him unraveled, leading to him needing to take you both in public, and in private.

the scraped ankle incident - smut - while at the beach with connor's friends, you can't help but be turned on by him, so you drag him into a beach shower, and beg him to help you.

ben kindel

too much - smut - waking up in the middle to ben being needy for you, so you give him exactly what he's asking for

so sweet - smut - you have an awful day at work, and your ovulating body can only crave one solution to your frustration.

coming soon...

fandoms I plan to write for / would like to write for (feel free to request!)

other nhl teams / players

dcu (dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne, damian wayne, tim drake)

project hail mary (ryland grace)

criminal minds (aaron hotchner, spencer reid)

probably other as well - i am a weirdo freak & love a million different fandoms

You were already tired. Exhausted, more like.

Your work day was horrible; your coworkers were bitchy, your boss yelled at you for no reason, and the work was extra heavy on your shoulders today.

Not to mention, you were at the peak of your ovulation. So every little thing that kept you at work longer than necessary pissed you off. All you wanted was Ben.

Your sweet boyfriend, who'd given you a long kiss that morning as his morning wood pressed into you. You knew it wasn't his fault, that he had no way of knowing that he just sparked every single arousable neuron in your brain into high gear.

"Have a great day at work baby," he said in a sleepy murmur, his voice slightly rough. He gave you a little smile, his eyes still heavy.

And at work, your body was just replaying that sensation over and over and over. Making you helplessly needy, thinking about him all throughout your day.

Least helpful of all, was when Ben sent you a picture of him. In his gear from the waist down, shirtless and sweaty in the mirror. With his ever present sweet smile.

"Can't wait to see you. Practice was tough." His text read.

It was the cherry on top. You started getting frustrated, all the emotions from the day building up inside you. You needed to get out of here, to go see him.

And then it was finally, finally time to clock out.

You rushed out, probably violating multiple traffic laws, but you were way too focused on getting home to care. On getting to him.

As soon as the door to your apartment slammed shut behind you, Ben's voice called out.

"That you, sweetheart?" he said as he padded down the stairs.

When he stopped on the landing, his expression softened at your obviously agitated state. His took a careful step forward, opening his arms.

"Hey," he said softly, "Come here?"

You rushed into his arms, letting him hold you tight. You babbled on about how awful your day was, how everyone was mean and everything was terrible. Then, you started going into how badly you'd been needing him all day. Since that morning, when he'd been so desirable, sleepy and hard for you.

Ben listened, stroking your back and kissing your head. At the mention of you being needy, his instincts kicked in immediately. His desire to take care of you outweighing any other need he had prior.

It was his favorite thing, taking care of you. Ben felt like it was his life purpose, to make sure you had a smile on your face and that you were happy. He took pleasure in the fact that he could be there for you, and that he could do whatever it took to make you feel that way.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart. Let me take care of you. I promise I'll make it all better," he whispered into your ear, slowly reaching down to lift you into his arms.

You went willingly, letting a soft sigh of relief leave you as you settled against him.

Ben walked you to your shared bedroom, setting you down carefully on the edge of the bed. He kneeled on the floor, reaching up to pull down your work uniform. You lifted your hips to help him, sliding out of your pants and underwear. A soft gasp left you as the air in the bedroom hit your sensitive skin, already thrumming with the tension that had been present all day.

"Oh pretty girl," Ben said as he stroked your inner thighs, "You've been needing me all day huh?"

You nodded, spreading your legs as you laid back fully onto the bed. Ben's arms came to wrap around your thighs, opening you up to him fully. You heard him sigh softly, his breath ghosting over your center. Your slick entrance was impossibly inviting to him, drawing him in as his focused narrowed.

Ben pressed soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, slowly making his way upward. You whined impatiently, trying to push closer to him.

"Ben, please! I can't wait any longer- I've been dying all day," you huff out, your heels digging into his back to pull him to you.

Ben hummed softly, leaning in closer.

"I know, I know- sorry baby. You're just so pretty to look at, can't help myself," he said before he licked a long stripe from bottom to top.

You let out a long moan of relief, your legs going lax in his grip.

Ben didn't waste anymore more time teasing. His tongue licked all over your core, devoting attention to your folds and delving inside to taste you. He pressed deep, fucking his tongue into you. He whimpered softly against you, desperately trying to touch every last inch of you.

"Mmm... sweetheart- taste so good. Love your pussy so much," his voice muffled by the heat of you pressed against his face.

You were groaning softly, each flick of his tongue feeling like a soothe on your frayed nerves. He was methodically fixing everything bad that had happened today, calming your mind to where you'd wanted it to be all day.

He was gentle in his ministrations, but deliberate where he touched you. He knew every little thing that made you gasp, what made you cry out or sigh softly.

And Ben couldn't get enough. Your taste was his favorite thing in the world, and he was happy to stay kneeled between your thighs as long as possible.

"So sweet- ngh- tastes so, so sweet," he whined softly, his brow furrowing slightly as he pulled you closer to his mouth.

He started to suckle on your clit, slowly circling his tongue against it as he did. The soft, wet sounds of his mouth were loud in the room. The sensation of his warmth pressed so tightly against you was the comfort you'd been searching for.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold yourself back, to just stay rooted in the delicious sensations of his attentive mouth worshipping you. You were starting to crest, your orgasm approaching as he pulled it softly from you.

Ben felt your tells; your thighs tightening around his head, your body shivering against him.

He whined again, flicking his tongue against you with more urgency.

"Are you gonna cum honey? Gonna cum for me? Please, please cum for me. Wanna taste it so bad," he pleaded, one of his hands sliding down your thigh to press against your entrance.

Ben's fingers filled you, your gasp was loud as he gently pushed in and out of you. Working you toward your edge, his focus absolute.

With a final few suckles of his lips on your clit and a few pumps of his fingers, you were crying out softly. Cumming hard on his fingers as the pent up frustration from the day finally snapped.

Ben groaned into you, feeling your walls clench desperately around his fingers as your climax hit. He slipped them out of you, replacing them with his warm tongue. He swirled it inside you, trying to lap up every ounce of you that he could. He was pressed so deep into you he could barely breathe, panting between his desperate attempts to drink you in.

"Hnghhh... so- good-" he moaned softly, "could just stay here... forever... tasting my sweet girl."

He lapped at you until you were trembling, only then pulling away from you with a resigned whine. He pressed his fingers into his mouth, tasting what was left from when they'd been inside you.

Ben's curls tickled softly at your inner thigh as he rested his head against it, catching his breath as he watched your cunt pulse softly. Your glistening folds captivating him, his eyes fixed on your perfect pussy.

"So pretty..." he whispered, pressing a wet, open mouth kiss to your leg.

You shuddered softly in the aftermath, your body feeling languid and satisfied.

"Thank you, Benny. Making me feel so good. I feel so much better," you murmured, reaching your arms down.

Ben accepted the invitation, crawling up your body to wrap you in a big hug.

"God, of course. You know I'd do that everyday. Whenever you want. All the time. Just... love taking care of my girl. So perfect, so pretty, so sweet," Ben whispered against you, crushing you into his embrace.

He kept you wrapped up with him for a long time, his voice a soothing murmur as he assured you that the awful day was over. That you were with him now, safe and comfortable in his arms. He told you about his day, keeping your mind off yours, and made you laugh with him. Ben smiled widely as you laughed, fondly watching as his girl started to come back into herself. Intensely satisfied that he was the one who saved you from that nightmare of a day.

The summer sun was brutal this time of year, the middle of July was making everyone stir crazy. The heat, the baking sun, it was enough to make anyone irritable if they were inside long enough.

So, that's why you and Connor decided to pack up and spend some time at his friend's beach house. The glimmering water, the cool breeze of the ocean, and the excitement of finally being away from the stifling city heat of Chicago was too good to pass up.

The beach house was small, just a little cabin type place meant only for sleeping after long days in the water. The entire place smelled of salt and sunscreen, a scent you'd been missing since last summer.

On your first day there, Connor and his friends decided to stuff one of their cars with blankets, chairs, and other supplies. The trip to the public beach was short, just a few minutes of beautiful water and sandy shores blurring by through the window.

You couldn't wait. Your bikini ties sticking out of your shirt collar and the sides of your shorts. Connor was sitting in the front seat, occasionally glancing back to fondly watch you looking out of the car window at the passing scenery.

At the beach, the energy was high. Full of playful teasing as everyone unpacked the car. An umbrella was pitched in the sand, chairs spread out all around, and plenty of bottles of sunscreen littered the blanket laid in the middle.

You watched as Connor stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean, tanned torso you knew every inch of by heart. Yet that didn't stop the breath that caught in your throat as you traced every line of his abs. He caught you staring, and raised a brow.

"You wanna help me put this on," he said, holding a spray bottle out to you, "or are you just going to enjoy the view?"

You rolled your eyes as he smirked, turning away so you could get his back. He flinched as the cold sunscreen made contact with the taut muscles of his back, but he relaxed as your steady hands worked it into his skin.

The first half of your beach day was a blast. Playing volleyball in the sand, your competitive nature battling against Connor's as you two tried to sabotage each other. You swam, the salty water cooling your skin as you splashed and laughed with him. He spent time with his friends, kicking around a soccer ball and retrieving it from the water when it went astray.

As he kicked it to someone else, you watched him from your chair. You were "reading," really you were just watching him with a thinly veiled excuse.

It started to bug your brain; the way his broad shoulders looked when the sun beat down on them, the way his gold chain reflected the light as he moved. His bright smile and laugh seeming to be accentuated on the hot beach.

He came jogging over to you, fixing you with that same wide smile.

"Having fun, princess?" he said, crouching down to your eye level in the chair.

It was too much. His hair messy from the salt water, the smell of sunscreen mixing with his cologne and sweat, the sand plastered to his legs and arms. The way he was looking at you with those eyes and that little grin that made your stomach flip.

"Yeah-" you started, before grabbing his arm, "I actually need your help. I think I got a cut on my ankle and it might have sand in it. Will you help me wash it out?"

It was an excuse, a pretty easily debunked one too. Connor's face immediately dropped with concern, his other hand reaching for your ankle. You stood quickly, not letting him have the the chance to figure out your little lie just yet.

You pulled him by the arm, letting him stumble behind you as he followed quickly.

"Yeah, of course. Are you okay?" he said, his voice sweet with a need to comfort you.

You almost felt bad, making him worry. But you were too worked up to care.

When you'd made it to the edge of the beach, you thanked every lucky star that you'd noticed the enclosed beach showers on your way in. Without another word, you pulled him in behind you, shutting the door with a thud. It wasn't entirely closed though, just four walls with no roof. And the walls were thin at that, a sound too loud and his friends would definitely hear you.

When you turned to him, Connor's face was morphing from concerned, to confused, to intensely curious.

"Your ankle isn't cut, is it" he said bluntly, starting to follow your intentions from your prior urgency to your pleading eyes.

"No, it's not," you conceded, "But I just need you so bad. Seeing you out there, looking so sexy. God I couldn't take it."

Connor's brow raised as his lip quirked up at your breathless confession.

"Yeah? You're bad, you know that? All my friends are right out there, and you're thinking about my hands on you?" his voice was a low rumble, his hands coming to grab your waist.

You just nodded, leaning into his touch. He could feel the heat of your gaze, the way your body yielded so easily to him.

Connor slid one of his hands past your bikini bottoms and you gasped softly. You pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

His fingers dipped into your wetness without a second of teasing, not wanting to risk getting caught like this. His other hand held you firmly against him, his eyes dark as he watched your eyelids flutter.

He slid two fingers into you slowly, curling them in the way he knew you loved. They moved methodically, stroking against the sensitive part of you with a practiced knowledge. Connor knew every inch of you, and he knew how to get you to a peak quickly.

"Come on baby, you gonna cum? Right here? Where anyone could see? See how much my girl needs my fingers," he murmured against your temple, adding his thumb to circle your clit.

Your one hand was still pressed over your mouth, but a few soft noises slipped by as your other hand gripped him desperately.

Your nails dug into his bicep as he finally pushed you over, your orgasm both soft and devastating from his fingers alone. He worked you through it, kissing your hair and slowly sliding them out of you.

But it wasn't enough. Seeing him standing there, satisfied as he licked his fingers clean, it only served to make you more needy.

"Please," you whispered, pulling at his swim trunks, "Need more. Need you," you pleaded, giving him those big eyes he couldn't say no to.

Connor let out a long breath, his arousal pressing insistently against his trunks, his expression warring between need and responsibility. He looked at the door as if it might open at any second, but the look you gave him as his eyes met yours again was too much.

His desire won fairly quickly, and he spun you around in his grasp.

His voice was low when he growled in your ear, taking his own hand to replace yours over your mouth.

"This is a terrible idea, but at this point, I don't care. You need to stay quiet, okay? Unless you want everyone to hear," he said as he pushed his trunks down just enough.

His length was hot against your ass, insistently pressing against your bikini bottoms.

You nodded against his hand, trying to shove back against him, to feel him closer. His hand grabbed your hip hard, pinning you in place against him. He reached down, shoving your bottoms to the side.

His hand wrapped around his cock, giving a few strokes as he groaned softly. He couldn't wait much longer, the sight of you bent over for him, his hand against your mouth, was becoming too tempting to give up.

So he pushed himself inside you in one long, slow thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a soft hiss.

"Fuck baby," he murmured, his free hand running through his damp hair as he pressed his hips as close as he could to yours, "So wet huh? Needed me this bad?"

You nodded your head frantically against him, your response muffled by his hand.

His pace started slow, making sure to avoid any slapping sounds that he'd usually take pleasure in.

"Ah, ah," he said softly, "Quiet, remember?"

He picked up his pace slightly, driven by the way you were trying and failing to stop your moans in his palm. He reached around, flicking and tweaking your nipple as he fucked into you.

He was trying to keep himself quiet, desperately biting his lip as he watched himself disappear inside you. But he couldn't help the little grunts that fell from his mouth, your cunt was just too good.

His hand grabbed your hip now, any semblance of his ridgid control fading quickly. He did his best to keep it down, but the need to fuck you harder was winning out more.

You had your hands braced on the wall, his cock pressing so deep inside you that you needed some kind of support to stay standing. The sound of Connor barely containing himself only served to push you closer and closer, needing to finish with him. Your cunt gripped him tight, and Connor let out a choked groan.

"Don't- don't do that," he hissed, his thrusts losing rhythm for a second as he tried to regain control.

You, of course, didn't listen. Clenching down on him hard as he hit deep on the next thrust.

Connor let out a long moan, fucking into you faster and with less consideration for the sounds he was making.

"Fine," he gritted out, "You don't want to listen? I'll make this whole fucking beach hear you scream," his hand moved from your mouth, coming grip your other hip as he started pounding into you.

You squeaked, trying your best to still keep yourself quiet as he relentlessly hit that spot, the one that made your vision blurry and your legs tremble.

"C-Connor, m'gonna- cum again," you managed to stutter out, as quietly as you could as you choked on a moan.

His pace didn't slow, if anything, he picked it up. His hips didn't meet your ass with each thrust, didn't give the stinging slap that usually accompanied his hard thrusts from behind. He was trying to hang on to a small thread of decency, even if it was small.

Yeah?" he whispered, feeling himself approaching his edge as well, "Come on princess. Cum on my cock. Want to hear you say my name when you do, want everyone to hear it," he panted out, eyes squeezing shut.

You smacked your hand over your mouth just in time, covering up your keening cry of him name as you came. Your walls spasmed around his cock, your legs shook as you tried to stay standing through it.

Connor's arm wrapped around you, holding you against his chest as he thrusted a few more times, spilling into you with a groan into your ear.

"Fuuuck- god, this fucking cunt feels so good," he said into your shoulder, biting softly which made you jolt.

The two of you stayed standing, his arm holding you tight to keep you upright. After a few seconds of you both catching your breath, Connor pulled out of you with a wince. He turned you to face him gently, and watched as a drop of his cum ran down your thigh.

It sent a shiver down his spine, but he quickly replaced the possessive chill with a more practical, focused attention.

"Come on princess, let's get you cleaned up before anyone sees the mess I made in you," he said, his voice a low murmur as he turned on the water.

He kept you tucked into his side as he tested it, getting it as warm as he could before gently holding you under the stream. He wiped the evidence of himself from your thighs, stroking your side with his other hand as he did.

You hummed softly, leaning into him, satisfied and a little smug.

"So... better than washing sand out of my scraped ankle?" you teased softly, your hands traced patterns along his shoulders and chest.

Connor snorted softly, shutting off the water as he fixed his trunks.

"Scraped ankle, my ass," he said, pushing your bottoms back into the place they belong, "But yeah, much better than your little injury stunt."

You giggled, and he pulled you to the door of the shower, opening it and peering out before turning to you.

"Let's hope no one heard me fucking my girlfriend on a public beach. I don't think the sports columns would love to hear that one," he smirked, walking out with your hand in his.

As you walked back down to the beach, you heard a voice call out.

"Hey Bedsy! You two alright up there? It's been like, twenty minutes!"

You and Connor turned to each other, and he gave you a little private smile.

"Yeah!" he yelled back, as you approached his friends, "She just got a little scrape on her ankle. Needed some taking care of," he said casually, though a little smirk quirked the side of his mouth.

His friends bought it, at least mostly, some giving a suspicious eyebrow raise, but not saying anything more.

Safe to say, your ankle was just fine. Though, you'd never been so happy to have faked an injury.

Simon's hands were stroking softly down your sides, caressing every inch like you were something he'd been dying to memorize.

"How are you feeling, pretty girl?" he murmured into your hair.

How were you feeling?

You'd just cum hard on your childhood bestfriend's fingers, for the first time mind you. And now he was calling you nicknames and kissing you. And... what were you feeling on your back? Kind of like a hard nudge into your lower back...

Oh.

"Simon..." you started nervously, "are you... are you um-" you pressed backward into him.

A soft hiss from him confirmed exactly what you were thinking.

"I'm sorry-" he blurted out immediately, "I really didn't try to, I mean it's kind of hard not to when-" he couldn't finish the sentence. He was torn between being mortified and helplessly aroused. How could he not be? You were so adorable, sitting so perfect in his lap, after he'd literally just made you cum for the first time in your life.

So yeah, he was turned on.

You cut him off with another, harder press against him. He choked on a gasp, grabbing your hips in a vice grip to make you still.

"Please- you can't do that," he gasped, "I-I'm not in a state to stop myself right now."

You bit your lip, worrying it softly between your teeth.

Did you want this? To ruin every last little boundary with him, and to have to admit things you'd literally kept hidden for years?

Well... yes actually. That's precisely what you wanted.

So you said softly, "Maybe I don't want you to stop."

Simon's body went rigid behind you, you could feel him trying to control his breaths in and out. An attempt at even breathing that he was failing miserably at achieving.

He must've heard you wrong. Yet again, he'd thought that before and he had in fact heard you right. Which in turn, led to this. So maybe he really did hear it right.

He had to make sure.

"You... what?" he started, croaking out the words in disbelief, "You can't say things like that as a joke."

You shook your head, and he felt the movement send a jolt of electricity through him.

"Not joking," was all you said, before you moved slowly from his lap, climbing over him to turn yourself around.

You straddled him, bracketing his thighs with your knees. His face was flushed and his eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I want you to be my first," you said, not a hint of jest in your tone.

Simon shook his head slowly.

"You... you're probably just saying that because of what we just-"

Your lips landed on his before he could stutter out another stupid word.

He stayed still for a second, before his hand tangled in your hair and the other held your waist. He melted into the kiss, pouring out everything he wished he had said all those years ago.

Your hands drifted down his chest, pulling a groan from him as your hands landed near his crotch.

"Baby please," he breathed as he pulled away from you, "You can't- we can't- you have to tell me you're sure. A hundred percent."

You kept eye contact, pressing your palm against his erection.

Simon dropped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew he had to be careful. To be gentle with you, and to make sure everything was perfect for you. But damn, you were making it really fucking hard.

"I... I need you Simon," you whispered, experimentally dragging your hand up his clothed length.

His hand caught your wrist quickly, his head snapping forward.

"You have to stop, before I can't control myself," his voice was a ragged whisper, his eyes simmering with a barely contained heat.

You blushed, a slight bit of nerves creeping in.

Your wrist was held loosely in his hand, his eyes pleading for some kind of help. For you to either give him permission to finally let himself lose it, or to lock it up and try and pretend this never happened.

Simon had a feeling the latter of those options would literally tear him apart.

"Please," he whispered softly, "Tell me you want this. That you're not just... trying to do this for me. I need... I need you to tell me."

You took his face in your hands, looking directly into his eyes.

"I want this. I swear to you. It's not just... because I want to make you feel better or whatever. I want you," you said, making your voice as even as you could to convince him that this wasn't just some reciprocation you felt was required.

Simon shakily reached for his shorts waistband. His eyes met yours, asking a final, silent question as his thumbs hooked into the layers of fabric.

You nodded slowly, watching every movement he made.

His shorts and boxers were pushed down, leaving him bare before you. They pooled around his thighs, and his thick length smacked against his abdomen so hard it made him flinch.

That was a lot bigger than his fingers.

A darker blush crept up your face as your eyes stayed fixed and wide on his newly exposed skin, your heart starting to pick up on pace.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he reassured, his voice low. His hands were open at his sides, in a placating gesture that left everything up to you.

You shook your head, still looking at him. Your eyes traced the lines running up him, the way the tip of him was flushed and he pulsed slightly under your intense gaze.

"No, no. I want to. I really want to," you assured him, experimentally dragging a finger up his thick length. Simon's breath caught slightly, his eyes following your finger.

His hands trembled as they settled on your waist, his control visibly fraying in the wake of your curious exploration. It was almost too much for him to handle, watching you and your flushed cheeks experiment with him.

Simon closed his eyes tight as you brushed your finger tip across the head of him, his precum smearing on your wandering finger.

"What- what do you want?" he said, his voice a rough scrape as he fought desperately for control.

You cocked your head, slightly confused.

"I guess..." you started, looking down, "I don't know."

It was true. You weren't entirely sure how this was even going to work, let alone how you wanted it.

Simon's hands stroked up and down your sides slowly.

"That's okay, you don't have to know yet," his voice reassuring as he carrassed you.

"Do you want to, I mean, we can stay like this? I can help you," he said slowly, gesturing to the way you were straddling him.

You nodded slowly, raising yourself up on your knees as his hands guided your hips. He let one hand drop, coming to grab his cock to help you align over him.

He looked up, holding your gaze as you lowered over him slowly. He let out another soft, punched out sigh as he felt himself part your soft, wet folds.

"Jesus," he breathed, dropping his head down to compose himself.

You continued to lower on to him, your brows furrowing as the head of him pushed into you. The feeling was much more of a burning pressure than his fingers had been, but even more delicious. It was rapidly turning from a slight pain into a deep pleasure, a soft moan leaving your mouth as you sank down further.

Simon was almost sweating, both hands gripping your waist tight. His breathing was coming in soft pants as he watched your bodies join slowly, each inch of him stretching you in a way that made his head spin and his cock throb. It was almost too much to bear, watching you experience him like that, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"You're so tight, you feel so good baby," he whispered between harsh breaths, making sure you were aware that this was just as good for him.

You simply whined in response, your lip tugged between your teeth as you pushed down the final few inches.

Simon let out a long groan, his head falling back, as you placed both hands on his chest to steady yourself.

Simon was holding on by a thread, his knuckles white as he gripped you tightly. The way your walls were so soft around him was threatening to completely dismantle his resolve. He needed to stay in control, needed to take it so slow and be so perfect with you.

Until you rolled your hips, and moaned his name.

"Simon- mhmm my god- feels even better than your fingers," your hips moved in time with your words, testing how he felt buried inside you like that.

Simon felt like his teeth were going to crack with how hard he was clenching his jaw. You were just sitting there, on his cock, your lips parted as you ground into his pelvis, watching yourself move experimentally.

"Please. Please baby-" he begged, his chest rising and falling as he let out shuddering breaths, "Can I move? I don't want to hurt you, but god you're fucking killing me right now."

All he needed was the way you clenched around him at the sound of his words, your eyes blinking at him as you gave him that confirmation he was craving so desperately.

Simon let out a large sigh of relief, his hands gripping your hips with a new purpose. He started slowly, using his strength to easily slide you up his length, and pull you back down.

It was an intense sensation, but you'd never felt anything so good before in your life. It was like you were forming around him, every ridge and vein imprinting itself into your soft flesh. His tip pushed deep inside you, poking and prodding at places you didn't even know existed.

When he started to increase the pace, his hips thrusting up to meet your hips as he pulled you down, you moaned loudly and pressed harder into his chest.

Simon was still careful, but he was quickly losing himself in the tight heat of you, in the way you wrapped around him, unrelenting in your clenching.

He managed to grit out, "Your cunt feels- fucking perfect. So soft- so warm- so, so tight. Don't even want to let me go, do you?"

You shook your head quickly, whimpering softly as he started pounding into a spot that made you cry his name.

"N-No, don't want to- hah- don' want to let you- go," you stuttered out, your eyes nearly rolling back as you scratched into his chest. You didn't know how, but you felt another tight knot beginning in your stomach. His cock was slamming impossibly hard into you know, Simon's ability to keep the pace soft and slow completely gone.

"I-I'm sorry-" he groaned, his hips slapping your thighs rhythmically, "It feels so good- does it feel good for you baby? You like when I fuck you like this, hm? Tell me, tell me you like it," he breathed, his eyes searching yours.

You tried your best, but you were nearly incoherent as he drew you closer and closer to your second, more intense peak.

"I-I like it- s'much. Cock feels- so, soo good Simme- Gonna make me- cum again!" you squealed the last part, your muscles tensing as the sensation started to overwhelm you.

Simon groaned, low and unrestrained, as his cock twitched at the sight of you losing it on top of him. His hips kept their pace, frantically smacking against you to keep his dick hitting that sensitive spot. He was holding on, barely, but just enough to make sure he could watch you cum again.

As you hit your peak, your eyes shutting tight and your cunt nearly cutting of his circulation, Simon watched, mesmerized. He drank in every detail, not wanting to miss a second as he became the first person to ever give you this. To make you feel like this.

It added to the feelings swirling in his chest, between a hot need to finish, to claim every single inch of you in a way no one else ever had before, and the need to make sure everything was perfect for you.

He snapped out of his thoughts as you whined softly, your pussy fluttering around him as you came down from your orgasm, hands weakly pawing at his chest.

"Good girl, such a perfect, beautiful girl," he murmured, pulling you to his chest as he gave a few more deep, harsh thrusts.

He stroked your back, comforting you even as he still slammed into you, quieting your whimpers with a kiss to your temple.

"I'm- I'm almost there," he choked out, his eyes closing as he felt himself teetering on the edge, "Just a few more..."

Simon's his twitched as he finally came, his cum painting your insides in white, hot spurts. It was probably the hardest he'd ever cum, Simon realized, as he felt himself continue to spill into you in nearly endless waves.

He stayed buried inside you, because it was warm, comfortable, and he didn't want to cause you any distress. A little bit of a darker part of him though, knew it was because he didn't want a single drop of him to escape you. His claim that he wanted to remain inside you, as the only person to ever have this part of you.

You sighed softly, eyes closed and mouth slightly open against his shoulder. Simon continued to stroke your back, holding you flush against his chest. His warmth was a comfort in your blissed out state, both inside and outside.

You shifted, and Simon's hands steadyed you as you wriggled in his lap.

"Shh shh. Just stay right here baby. Right here. So comfy hmm?" he whispered, cupping your ass to hold you in place.

You hummed, settling further into his lap. One hand came to twist in his curly blond hair, stroking his scalp.

"Thank you for... being my first," you murmured against his shoulder, your body starting to surrender to the emotional and bodily exhaustion.

Simon paused his soft caresses, leaning his cheek on your temple, whispering in your ear.

"Thank you, for trusting me. With this, with what we did before. With everything. You were so amazing," he said in a slow, reassuring tone against you.

You both were quiet for a few moments, Simon's calloused hands skimming over your back and your sides.

"Simon?" you said softly.

"Hmm?" he hummed back.

You hesitated slightly, but said, "Does this... I mean. Did this mean more to you than just... teaching me?"

Simon didn't wait. He didn't need to think about it.

"Yes. I... I've wanted you for a long, long time. I was just too... nervous you wouldn't feel the same. That, I don't know, I wasn't what you wanted," he confessed quietly.

You stilled, pulling back gently to look at his face. His eyes held yours, not ashamed but still slightly nervous.

"Simme..." you whispered, "I've... I've always wanted you."

Simon pulled you in tight, crushing you into a hug as he laughed softly.

"Well, I guess we're both stupid huh? Could've done this... so long ago," he said in an amused, if regretful, tone.

"I'm glad we figured it out. Even if it took... a weird conversation and a few lessons," you giggled softly.

Simon let out a slow breath, his fingers moving to tangle in your hair.

"Yeah, I never expected to be a teacher. Or to be in love with my student," he smirked, chuckling lowly.

You shook your head, but you were smiling too.

The story you gave when people asked how the two of you finally got together, was not this one. This story, the real one, stayed between you. A little secret, kept tight to your chests. You two didn't mind, though. It felt more fun that way. To keep your little "student-teacher" origin right where it started. In Simon's sheets, a reminder of the years of missed opportunities, and the awkward walk-in that changed everything.

The Detroit bar swirled around you and Simon, laughter and music combining into a soft background noise. A perfect backdrop to another night out with his team after a big win the previous night.

Simon insisted on bringing you out to the team outing, wanting everyone to see his beautiful girlfriend on his arm. He loved having you with him; his pride and joy, he'd say.

The evening was delightful, full of pleasant conversations and jokes and flowing drinks that seemingly had no end. And you took advantage of those endless drinks, relaxing and enjoying yourself while Simon socialized with his friends.

By the time you were starting to get ready to leave, you were a bit unsteady on your feet. Swaying slightly as you made your way to the exit.

"You okay baby?" Simon asked with a hint of concern, putting a steadying hand on the small of your back.

You waved him off with a simple, "I'm okay," and kept walking on your own.

Though, when you were halfway down the block and almost tumbled into a light post, Simon decided you were actually not okay.

"Woah okay, nope nope nope," he came quickly to your side, holding you in his arms to catch you.

"We're not risking a broken ankle here," his tone was playful, but there was an underlying seriousness in it. He turned you to face him as his eyes checked over you, lingering on your face as he gauged just how drunk you really were.

From your hazy eyes to the way you gave him a silly little smile, he knew you were definitely not in a fit state to make it all the way home.

So he bent down, going to pick you up, but you side stepped him.

"I said I'm fine!" you almost yelled, a bit louder than you meant to.

Both of you froze on the sidewalk. From his half bent state, Simon gave you a confused look. His brows creasing and his arms still outstretched.

"Just let me carry you home. It'll be safer for both of us, especially for my heart," he joked, but he was starting to get suspicious of your refusal.

You didn't want to say the real reason you were avoiding his offer. The fact that you felt like he'd try to lift you, and you'd have to live with the embarrassing reality of him not being able to. Of him having to put you back down and walk off, awkwardly. And worst of all, the fear that he wouldn't like you as much anymore.

"I'm just... too big for that. Like, I'm an adult," you said, turning away from him. You tried to keep your voice even, despite the alcohol and the anxiety coursing through your brain,

You figured that would be enough to get him to stop, to leave it alone and to not figure it out.

But Simon didn't miss little things.

He saw the way you tried to pull your shirt down further, the way you wrapped your arms tightly around your stomach, and how you tried to make yourself look smaller.

He let it go, he knew fighting it would just make it worse. And he didn't like saying empty things and trying to make you promises that you wouldn't believe anyways.

So he walked the two of you home, still staying close and catching you when you stumbled.

Yet, your words and the way you acted still rang in his mind. There was nothing to do about it tonight, but Simon knew he wasn't just going to drop it.

A week later, the situation still sat in the front of simon's mind. He'd been waiting for an opportunity, a plan, to figure out how to prove to you that you weren't "too big" for him. Or for anything, for that matter.

So as you both were getting ready for bed one night, he decided he was going to prove just how easily he could handle you.

"Come to the gym with me tomorrow," he said, his words coming not as a question, but as a statement. His eyes looking at your through the mirror as you both brushed your teeth.

You made a face as he laughed slightly.

"Why would I do that? It's just you and your sweaty hockey player buddies. Sounds like a lot of testosterone and stink," you said, spitting out your toothpaste with a splat.

"Because," he said simply, "it will be fun. Trust me."

And that's how you ended up in the Red Wings training facility, dressed in your cutest workout set with a water bottle clutched in your hand.

"Why am I here again?" you asked him for probably the fourth time since you'd arrived.

"You'll see," Simon said as he finished lacing his shoes and led you over to his favorite corner of the gym. He set his duffle down by a bench, and started stretching. He gestured for you to join, and you rolled your eyes but complied.

"Okay, I'm going to start with squats," he said, cracking his knuckles softly. He made no move to go get any kind of equipment.

"Okayyy..." you said, looking around "where are the weighs?"

Simon grinned, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Oh, right here," he said in a playful tone.

You squeaked in surprise as he swept you up easily, lifting you to drape over his shoulders.

"Simon!" you nearly yelled, trying to suppress a giggle.

Simon just held you securely against him, and started to press into low, controlled squats.

"What? This is my recovery day. I figured I'd go light," he laughed, grin still plastered on his face as he caught your eye in the mirror.

He did plenty of reps, more than he needed to. The world was a blur of ups and downs as his strong legs pushed your weight with no issue. He pressed as low as he could before finally setting you down.

"Was that really necessary?" you laughed, regaining your balance on solid ground.

Simon shrugged, dusting his hands off in a playful gesture. His eyes still sparkling as they fixed on you.

"What? Needing a warm up set before I get to the real weight? It's what a good athlete does," his voice was mock serious, a little smug at your slightly shocked expression. He nodded to the bench rack, "I should probably do a set on upper body before I start anything else."

You gave him a suspicious eye. He was going to bench you? Seriously?

"You can't be serious," you said, crossing your arms.

In response, Simon simply swept you up again before you could protest. Carrying you to the bench as he sat down on it.

"Can't I?" he raised a brow, laying back and sliding a hand to grip your thigh, the other rest as gently as possible on your chest.

You tried to protest, but the way he was looking at you, as he had you braced above him, kept you quiet.

Simon proved his point. Multiple times. Bench pressing you and kissing your stomach each time he brought you closer, deadlifting you with ease, curling your weight like it was nothing. When you left the gym, he knelt down and looked back at you.

"Piggyback to the car?" he smirked softly, finally having proved his point to your anxious brain.

You smiled softly, and draped over his back, arms around his neck and legs around his torso. He walked you to the car, and into the house, and into your room. It was inescapable after that, Simon always carried you when he had the chance. Even if you protested, he knew you loved it too.

Maybe you'd been a bit dramatic with the whole body conscious thing.

But Simon, the biggest drama king, would never be out drama-ed.

That's just what happens when you lay down a challenge for the sassiest defensemen. And you know what? It worked in everyone's favor.

He got to carry around his girl like the princess she was, and you got to have your boyfriend as your person valet.

It's one of those days for Simon.

Those days that just break you down methodically piece by piece, with things stacking up incrementally until they turned into a final crushing weight

The first offense, is right when he wakes up.

His alarm didn't go off, he realizes in horror as he looks at the much too bright room around him. He throws the blanket off of him, much to your sleepy dismay.

"Siii- what the hell?" you grumble from your pillow.

Second offense, waking you up and getting out of bed without even having extra time to cuddle or kiss you.

His shower is quick and freezing, just a rinse to start the day. The sink water is cold, his toothbrush falls into the sink when he tries to use it, and somehow he's run out of floss.

He lets it go, moving off to the kitchen. Where, of course, there are no coffee filters.

Great, he thinks, I don't even have time to stop either.

That's how he knows it's going to be a long, long day.

The rest of the day follows in a similar pattern.

His suit jacket is missing a cufflink.

The only tape left for his stick is the color he doesn't like.

During the game of that night, everything just gets worse.

His skate gets stuck in a deep groove on the ice during warmups, causing him to have an embarrassingly large fall right on to his butt.

"Hey," Larkin says as he skates past, "we need you upright tonight, yeah?"

SImon huffs but does his best to keep moving.

The game starts, and he can already tell he's off.

He misses a big pass in the second, and the bench tries to hide their disappointment.

But Simon feels it.

In the third, he hears a few guys from the other team talking away.

"Hey big guy!" one of them yells to him as he skates past, "Thanks for the help out there tonight!"

It's all Simon can do not to turn and land his fist in his jaw.

What really kills him though, is as he's stepping off the ice. It was already stirring in his mind that they'd lost by a single point, if he'd just made that stupid pass-

Smack.

Simon winces in pain as he slams his wrist into a pillar he didn't notice as he was walking. The pain shoots up his arm and he grabs it with his other hand.

Simon lets out a long, frustrated breath. The fighting to stay positive drains from his exhausted body. Home. He needed to go home.

The media seems to last forever. Question after question about how'd he missed the pass, how he fell, how he was off his game tonight.

It was making him sick. To hear it over and over, to try and explain his failures to cameras broadcasting everywhere.

As soon as they'll let him, Simon gets away. He throws everything haphazardly into his hockey bag, doesn't say any goodbyes, and walks straight to his car.

By the time he arrives home, he looks like a kicked puppy. His head hanging low and his expression gloomy.

As soon as you see him, you know this isn't just a little frustration over a tough loss.

The moment he walks in the door, he's searching for you. He finds you in the living room, curled up with a book tight in your hands.

He melts instantly, coming to sit heavily by your side.

You set your book down, opening your arms in an invitation.

Simon doesn't need any encouraging.

He basically lunges nto you, wrapping you up tight in his embrace and squeezing you until you have to tap his arm to let you breathe.

"Sorry, sorry... I forget I am so... big and clumsy," he mutters into your shoulder.

That isn't much like him, to give little self-depreciating comments.

"You're not clumsy, baby. Just big," you say as you stroke his hair, running a hand through it.

Simon lets out a long breath, "I am clumsy. I cost us the game because I could not just... skate straight. It is so stupid, I am so stupid. Everything was just wrong today," he says, his words harsh.

You frown, pulling him closer.

"Hey, woah. You are not stupid. You did the best you could, and that's all you can do right? Not everyone is perfect everyday," you say softly.

Simon shakes his head, and you freeze as you feel a slight wetness on your shirt.

Is he crying?

You say nothing about it, not wanting him to get defensive.

So you just hold him, his blond hair running through the spaces between your fingers. You speak in soft tones, reassuring him that it was just one bad day.

"You can't be so harsh on yourself Simme," your voice seems to wrap around him like a blanket.

Simon buries deeper into your chest, holding on like your words are the only lifeline he has. Squeezing you to make sure you're actually there, that you aren't just another sick joke from his terrible day.

He never wants to be upset like this with you. He's always the one to be your shoulder to cry on, your rock to cling to when you're stressed.

But sometimes boys have to cry too. And as he lays in your embrace, the day starting to fade into insignificance as your words soothe him, Simon starts to understand that.

"It's okay to cry, Simon," you whisper softly to him, not wanting to make him embarrassed.

So Simon did. He lets it out, and he cries to you. He tells you about the coffee, the stick tape, the pass he fumbled, the way his skate hit a groove and he tripped. About the chirps and the way he hit his wrist the wrong way. Everything that led up to this moment, because he knows you will take each one and hold it gently in your hands. You will talk him through, and you won't pretend any of those problems didn't exist.

To be tough for someone, you have to show them this side of you too. No one can be perfect and strong all the time.

It feels like a turning point for Simon.

Realizing that, this side of him was okay too. That you're going to stay either way. Whether he is your person to lean on, or if you are his.

So as you're laying there, with his head pressed into your chest and his arms securely around you, you hear him murmur softly.

"Jag älskar dig."

You smile, leaning down to pressing a kiss to his head.

"Are you ever going to tell me what that means?" you giggle softly into his hair.

Simon says it sometimes, in different places on different occasions. You always ask what it means, because he usually translates his Swedish for you. But he just shakes his head with a small smile, and tells you that it's not important right now.

"It means I love you, älskling. I have for a long time," the words are soft, almost a whisper against your chest.

Your body stills as you hear them.

*i love you

All those times. When you'd just laugh and continue on. Say he was so mysterious and just drop it without another word. He was just confessing it to you. And you had no idea.

"That's why you would never tell me?" your voice was a disbelieving whisper.

simon shifted slightly to look up at you.

"i just... was too nervous to say it. so i practiced my courage in my language. so i could build up the confidence to say it in yours."

you kissed him then, slow and deep. his hands slid over your back and pressed you closer.

When you finally break away, neither of you go far. Pressing your foreheads together like you'll never be able to do so again.

"I love you too," you say, the words soft and honest.

Simon makes a small, happy little hum against your chest.

"Come on, you wanna have ice cream and watch those shitty Swedish movies you like? The ones where you have to explain every joke to me?" you say with a little giggle.

Simon lets out a small laugh, and gives you another big squeeze as he nods.

You pull his arms off you gently, and let him stay on the couch. The blanket that sits on the back is soft in your hands as you drape it around him and pull it over the back of his head.

"There," you say difinitively, taking a step back to look at his massive frame bundled up in your blanket, "adorable and cozy."

Simon playfully scowls at you, but snuggles deeper into the blanket as he grabs the remote.

You shake your head with a smile, and make your way into the kitchen.

The tile is cold under your feet as you step in front of the freezer, pulling out your favorite gallon that's somehow survived in your house. Without even bothering for bowls, you bring it back into the living room with two spoons.

"Pick out something good?" you ask him quietly as you settle in next to his wrapped up form.

He simply hums a confirmation, and opens his arms to drag you into the blanket nest.

You squeak softly, holding onto the ice cream as he wraps you in with him.

"Stay here. Right here," he murmurs against your hair as he settles you back against him.

You spend the night laughing as he tries his best to explain situation humor in the movies, feeding him ice cream when he tries too hard. It's sweet, and it's a new kind of comfort to him. Being cared for so nicely by you, and being able to express this softer side of him.

The next morning, you ask simon how to say it in Swedish. He spends time explaining the pronunciation for you, helping you stumble through it. But you pick up on it.

Simon tries to blink back tears when you look up at him with a big, warm smile. Your eyes bright and your perfect lips forming around his native tongue.

"Jag älskar dig, Simme."

Your bedroom is quiet, the darkness absolute against your curtains pulled tight.

It's unusual for you to wake up at a late hour like this, unprompted and with no alarm.

You feel a insistent poking at your back, and hear a muffled whimper in the pillow next to yours.

Well, that would be why.

Ben was failing miserably at stifling his sounds into his pillow, grinding his hips in jerky thrusts against the curve of your ass.

"Ben," you murmur, blinking awake fully.

All he did was let out a longer whine in response, pressing closer to you.

"'M sorry, couldn't- couldn't help it," he mumbles against your neck, "Been up for an hour."

His mouth left sloppy kisses on your neck, warm saliva sticking to your skin as he went.

His movements were nearly frantic now, his hips trying to find any kind of friction against your sleep shorts and his boxers.

He lets out a frustrated groan, pressing his nose into the curve of your neck.

You give a long sigh, as you press back into him firmly. Grinding your hips once against the hard line in his boxers.

Ben gasps softly, his hands pawing desperately at the waistband of your shorts.

"Please- please lemme- just a little- be so good I promise," he pleads, fingers fumbling in his haste.

You swat his hands away, much to his dismay as he whines louder.

"No, I'm tired," you say, rolling to face him.

Though he couldn't see you, he knew you were giving him that stern look. The one that meant he was in trouble.

Ben's hands clench and unclench at his sides, as he tries his best to lay still.

It lasts for about five seconds, before he's rutting into the mattress with a few pathetic whines.

"Please! Just a little-" he begs, his hips stuttering.

"Fine," you say, scooting closer to him, "but you're not getting inside me. You're gonna take whatever I give you. Got it?"

His head bobs up and down eagerly, as he settles his back into your chest. His own chest is heaving, clearly buzzing with desire.

You drift your hand down his abdomen, coming to cup him through his boxers. He bucks once against the sudden pressure, a choked gasp punching out of him, before he forces himself still.

You rub your palm against him slowly, fingers dragging across him and ghosting over his tip.

Mercifully, you help him slide his boxers down, and his cock springs free to slap up on his stomach. His eyes shut tight against the sudden cool air touching his heated length.

One hand wraps around him, stroking slowly. Your other arm is around him, stroking his shoulder and down to his chest.

He's panting now, his muscles tight as he tries to relax against your tortuous pace. He's nearly vibrating as he holds himself as still as he can.

"Don't tease me- I can't- I can't do it right now," he manages to plead, as your thumb sweeps over his slit.

You hum lowly, swirling the bead of pre-cum around his tip, drawing a long whine from him.

Your thumb circles over his swollen tip, making him twitch as you play with it.

"Thought you wanted me to touch you, Benny? Isn't this what you wanted?" you say in deceptively innocent tone. Ben's hands ball up into fists as he tries not to beg you to go faster.

He just nods, "Y-yes. I'm sorry- this is what I want, it's so good. Your hand feels so good."

You giggle softly, and start stroking him faster. Your hand moving up and down on his hard cock with a pressure that you know he can't handle for long.

Ben yelps at the sudden change, burying his face into his pillow as he lets out small whines. Little ahs- oohs- mmphs- as he desperately tries to hold in his orgasm under your knowing touch.

"Come on Benny. Gonna make a mess for me? Cum all over yourself," your voice is a silken whisper that acts as a siren call to him.

With a shuddering groan, Ben's hips jerk up a few final times as he shoots ribbons of cum on to his stomach and the sheets next to him.

Before he can extricate himself from the pillow, to thank you for letting him cum, he feels your thumb and forefinger squeeze into a ring under his flushed tip.

He lets out a high pitched whimper as you slowly drag your hand back down on him, your grip tight and unyielding.

"Wait-! No, no please- I can't- ngh-" he whines, his abs flexing at the intense pressure of your hand.

You don't stop, stroking his half-hard cock and spreading his cum against it.

"I thought I said you were going to take everything I gave you?" you said, punctuating with a nip on his earlobe.

Ben cried out, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming touch on him.

"Can't! Please- it hurts. Hurts s'bad- too much-" his voice is a tumble of broken cries, desperate and keening.

Your thumb presses over his slit again, your fingers squeezing hard on his tip to draw a ragged moan from him.

Your other hand slinks down his chest, pinching his nipple in time with the movements on his cock.

Ben is trembling now, a tear slipping down his cheek as he starts to feel himself get pulled to a weaker, harder edge.

"Please- I can't cum again- it's- it's so much-," he cries, his eyes screwed shut tight, his body quaking with overstimulation.

You shush him softly, whispering in his ear.

"Oh it hurts?" you mock softly, "You can take it. I know you can give me another one."

You roll his nipple between your fingers, Ben's cock throbs in your hand as you do.

He's close again, you can tell by the way that he's trying not to meet your grip, not to thrust into the sensation.

With another sharp tug on his length, he hits his second release.

He comes with a guttural groan, hips twitching and squirming as he shoots a weaker load over the first.

Your hand gentles, stroking softly until he's wriggling away and whining softly.

You release your grip, sliding one hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

"There you go. Told you you could give me another one," you murmur, voice soft against his neck as you press a kiss there, "That's my good boy, Benny."

The words soothe him as his tremors begin to subside, his body laying heavy and limp on the mattress.

With what little strength he has left, he rolls over, and pulls you in to his chest.

"Thank you... thank you," his sniffles softly, "You're so good to me..."

You press a kiss to his cheek, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

You both fall asleep shortly after, a contented sigh slipping from his parted lips as he drifts off.