Anna Henri

Farkas hadn't teased you about your hesitation regarding losing your virginity. You'd anticipated it, preemptively making some half-assed joke to break the tension but he'd just stared at you. Your stomach had flipped when he leaned over the table, head cocked a bit.

"D'you want me to help with that?" His face had turned a shade of pink you didn't recognize. You considered laughing it off but for once he was serious. Accepting his offer had led you here, knees pressed to your chest and Farkas whining against your cunt.

It's annoying how good he is at this. His nose rubs against your clit with each messy swipe of his tongue, sharp teeth grazing you just enough to be exciting without causing pain. The hand on your hip keeping you firmly against his face. Practiced, too smooth to be his first time.

You shouldn't care that Farkas has done this before. You're only friends, there's no reason for you to feel jealous. He's just helping you out by ensuring that your first time isn't awful. But the thought of Farkas moaning like this for someone else feels wrong.

Farkas hasn't been able to think properly since you'd brought up the possibility of losing your virginity. He'd watched you shift and wring your hands, unable to process the joke you made. His ears were ringing and he was stumbling over his offer, failing to not sound too eager.

It had required every bit of self control to remain seated. Farkas watched your cheeks flush and was more than willing to embarrass himself for a chance. He'd never hurt you, never make you regret your first sexual encounter.

You taste better than he could've imagined. Farkas is happy to spend all evening here between your thighs, cheeks coated in proof of your arousal. Your back arches and he chases you, his hold on your hips dragging your cunt back to his lips.

Mine. Mine. All mine.

It's a foolish thought that he can't shake. Farkas' tongue spells his own name against your clit as if he can leave some mark on you. Proof that he is the one who made you orgasm. He licks at the base of fingers buried inside you, desperate for every little taste.

You aren't his. He's nothing more than a friend that's helping you out. Farkas knows that when you look at him you don't see a partner. He's only been graced with this opportunity because you trust him to give you a good first time.

But when you whine his name Farkas can pretend that it's real. That you want him. He can fool himself into believing that your hips shudder because it's him touching you. That you want it to be him.

"Farkas," you pant his name, summoning his full attention. He gazes up at you and your stupid heart flips at the sight. Farkas leaves an absent kiss on your thigh, face resting so easily on your skin.

"Yeah?" How does he sound so normal?

"Is this all you wanna do?"

It wasn't what you intended when mentioning your virginity but you won't push him. He's already ensured that your first orgasm from hands other than your own was fantastic, it would be greedy to ask for more. Farkas' brows tighten and you watch the gears turn in his mind.

"No." He snorts, clambering to his knees. A thrill of excitement shoots up your body as Farkas shimmies out of his trousers and grips the base of his cock. It's erect, throbbing in the palm of his hand and sends your heart into your throat.

"Why?" He asks, hitching one of your legs around his hip. "Do you wanna stop?"

"No."

Farkas' heart nearly stops. Your body angles toward his and he knows he's dragging the moment out too long but can't stop. He guides the tip of his cock against your cunt, breathless from the mere sensation of your arousal coating him. He knows what you want from him but this feels dangerous, breaking down a wall that only he knows to hide behind.

"Farkas -" your annoyed huff of his name is cut off by a whimper that changes something within him. His hips tilt, cock nudging into you and Farkas stills. He watches your pretty eyes flutter closed, muscles tight around him.

He gives you time. Farkas wants you to adjust to the sensation and he fights to catch his breath. The grip on your leg is too tight but he can't relent too much, can't lose control of himself.

Gods, he wants to fuck you. To pound you into the mattress and imprint himself into your brain. To fuck you until you realize that you don't need any other man - all you need is him. Farkas can make you feel good. He can love you, adore you, make you feel all warm and fuzzy. He can be your best friend or boyfriend or whatever you want him to be, why can't you see that?

His pelvis rests against yours, cock fully sheathed within you. He endures the hand slapping at his chest and grits his teeth against the damning words on his tongue.

"You ready?" He grunts instead, clamping down all those declarations of love he's too ready to blurt. "It might hurt a lil, but don't worry. I'll take care of you."

"Please," you whine, gripping his shoulder. "I can take it, Farkas."

Please, please, please. The word rings in his brain as Farkas' hips snap into yours. He's encouraged by the pleased sounds you make, mind addled by the sheer pleasure of finally getting to fuck you. He doesn't realize that he's drooling into your shoulder, collapsing into your hold with every thrust.

"So good," he mutters mindlessly, enthralled by the way your skin heats against his. "You're doin' so good."

Your hands are in his hair and you're panting his name into the sweaty skin of his brow. Farkas is thrilled, gripping your waist and grinding his hips into yours. How long has he wanted to be here? How many nights has he spent needily rutting into his pillow wishing it was you? He can't recall.

"Farkas," your voice is so breathy, he's never heard it before and quickly finds himself becoming addicted. "I'm close, I'm gonna -"

"I know, sweetheart." He can't contain it. Feelings ooze out of the walls he's built up because maybe, if he can make you feel good enough, you'll realize that it's him that you want.

He swallows every lovely little sound you make with a messy kiss. Your body twitches in his hold and he pauses, wringing every bit of pleasure out of you that he can. Farkas' cock throbs needily where it's buried inside you but he can't be bothered with that now.

He must make you feel good. He's not good with words or serious conversations but maybe you'll look at him differently after this. He sucks greedily at your lower lip, unable to stop the weak sound he makes when your muscles flex around him.

"Again?" He breathes, cupping the sweaty nape of your neck. Farkas kisses you before you can even answer, desperately relieved when you nod.

"More," your hips roll into his and Farkas nearly climaxes. Arousal blasts through his body because it feels like you want him. He doesn't hear himself whining into your throat or realize how sloppy his kisses are. All Farkas can think of is making you feel good.

"Just like that, god you feel fucking divine."

He's so sweet, free hand supporting your back as he maneuvers your hips. You can almost mistake the whimpers of your name into your skin as something affectionate. You grip Farkas' shoulders, eyes rolling back when he begins moving again.

"It's okay, relax." Farkas pants, clearly feeling tension in your body. "You know I'll take care of you."

Farkas fucks you like he's in love with you. Like he's worshipping you. You're painfully aware that it's likely just to set a high standard, to make your first time as good as he can, but it's almost heartbreaking how natural this feels. Farkas' thick arm wraps around your middle and hauls you closer, your name a whisper on his lips.

"Does that feel good?" His voice is strikingly low where he murmurs against your ear. You're nodding, voice stolen by how fucking sinful he sounds. Farkas' thick cock is buried into you when he kisses you, noses bumping together.

"Figure out what you like," he breathes into your mouth and for one fleeting moment the arm around your middle feels possessive. "Use me."

He straightens, one hand gripping your headboard to remain upright and it's overwhelming how hot he looks. It's shameful to say that the sight of your best friend's stomach flexing with each thrust of his hips has you flustered but it's Farkas. His lips are shiny with your spit and his hand presses to your stomach, thumb chasing the outline of his cock.

Even when you're both exhausted and sated Farkas can't make himself leave. There's a bit of panic in his throat but he shoves it down, simply watching the way you relax against his arm. Your eyes shyly seek his as you wrench a sheet over your chest, hiding all the marks his teeth had left behind.

"Was that okay?" Farkas whispers, his poor heart squeezing in his chest.

The Drifter had never been happier.

He'd slid over and she'd slipped in beside him, pressing herself close. The ridge that ran along the outside of his thigh dug into hers, but she'd scarcely noticed it. He must have, though, or maybe it had just been an excuse, because he'd asked if she'd be more comfortable sitting in his lap.

Now she was straddling him, her chest pressed against his, and occasionally he moved his hips under hers and she'd gasp, a quick indrawn breath against his lips as she clutched desperately at his shoulders.

They were kissing. They'd been kissing for a while now. Maybe they'd spend the rest of the year kissing and just get back to it in the next one.

His hands hitched up the hem of her shirt, roaming up the bare skin of her back. The prominent ridge that ran up his spine dug into the padding of the booth, so she'd twined her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair.

"All right, lovebirds, break it up. This is a family establishment."

Arthur broke away from her just long enough to reply. "Piss off, Velimir."

The sound system clicked as the track was changed, and the first strains of "Party of Your Lifetime" floated through the bar.

Arthur broke away from her again. "Bastard," he muttered before raising his voice. "All right, all right, you've made your point."

He withdrew his hands from her shirt, letting the fabric fall, and she pressed her face into his neck, face burning even as her shoulders shook with silent laughter.