Sorry, Lass

"Here," Farkas mumbles, grabbing your wrist. He places your hand on his chest and it does little to distract from the emotions you're desperately trying to run from. "Use me for balance."

Farkas' thumb presses to your wrist, keeping your hand pinned right over his heart. It's difficult to ignore its fluttering under your palm. You adjust your weight but the burn in your thighs doesn't really relent. His hips shift and you nearly collapse, that stupid big cock of his twitching against something that makes you weak.

"Don't worry about hurtin' me." He sucks in a breath, clearly trying to be patient. You can see it though - the tension in his stomach, the measured breaths, the way he's biting at his lip. He wants to fuck you like last time, to splay you over the bed and take control, but he's restrained. Truly letting you use his body to learn what you like.

Farkas is such a good friend. Your best friend, in fact. You try to keep that thought at the forefront of your mind when you raise onto your knees, hips swiveling and watch Farkas' head fall against your pillows. His eyes close and he sucks in a deep breath, fingers tightening around your wrist.

"You okay?" You pause, sweaty fingers gripping at his chest.

"Gods, yes." Farkas whines through gritted teeth. "You just feel - I want," his voice breaks once your hips rock against his.

Once you find a comfortable rhythm it becomes far easier. You can ignore the tightness in your muscles and the knowledge that you'll be sore later because Farkas is so fucking distracting. His moans spur you on, finding that you want to hear every little sound he can make. His free hand on your thigh keeps you steady and his grip remains on your wrist as if he's intent on ensuring that you feel each beat of his heart.

Every roll of your hips sends shivers of arousal up your spine and his little thrusts reduce some of the effort. Farkas gazes up at you like a man in love. For the briefest moment your friendship is forgotten. You fool yourself into thinking there's something fueling that heat in his gaze.

"That's it, just like that." His praise goes straight to your cunt. It's shameful how fucking arousing your best friend's voice is. "Keep going, do whatever makes you feel good."

"What makes you feel good?" You press, perhaps too interested in what turns Farkas on.

"Everything you do." Farkas' laugh is deep in his chest, rumbling under your hand. "Do anything to me."

Farkas never wants this to stop. It's bittersweet - he can help you learn about your body, what you like or want in a partner, but is plagued by the knowledge that it's not him. He's just a friend doing a favor before you find the man you really want. Farkas' heart skips when you grip his jaw - he's been caught staring at you.

Your kiss isn't needy like the last one. It's forceful, full of more feelings than he can decipher. Farkas can't really breathe but he doesn't mind all that much. You're biting at his lower lip and palming at his chest, using him as instructed.

Farkas swears the rest of the world ceases to exist when his hands are on you. You are the only thing he knows, your voice the sole sound that matters. Your hand above his racing heart, the way you fuck yourself on his cock, that frustrated divot in your brow that's only alleviated by his own hips thrusting into yours. Nothing exists outside of you.

"You feel me?" Farkas mutters into your chest. His voice is deep again, its usual playfulness gone. "Feel how deep I am in you?"

"Yes," oh, your little whine ruins him. Farkas bites back the endless stream of praise in his brain, deciding that the less he talks the better. Every time his mouth opens he's too aware of what he can't say.

Your grip on his shoulders keeps you upright but Farkas doesn't seem to register the nails biting into his skin. His lips are on your throat, hips bucking up into yours. You're hardly able to stay in his lap, thankful for the thick arm keeping you right where you want to be.

"Baby, you gotta tell me if it feels good." Farkas whispers into your ear, guiding your hips to roll against his. "Or if you want something else."

If only Farkas could be a braver man. He kisses up your throat and tangles a hand into your hair, fucking you like his life depends on making you orgasm again but he can't bring himself to say three simple words. He can only kiss you like this, tangled in your sheets and pretending to be nothing more than a helpful friend. He's a coward.

What do you want from him? He'll do anything. Contort himself into any shape to please you. Farkas hopes you don't pay too much attention to the desperate way he clings to you, fucking you like it can make you love him back.

"Yeah," your voice is so thin, soaked with pleasure. Farkas can't even enjoy the moment too much - are you even thinking of him? Are you wishing for another man beneath you?

"Yeah?" He prompts, selfishly hoping his voice has any affect on you. Farkas feels you tremble and knows you're close again. He curls your body close to his, terribly sore and unwilling to stop before you orgasm.

You swear no one else could undo you like this. Farkas touches you like he already knows your body, finding every little thing that heats your blood on instinct. Like you were always meant to fall for him. His hips smack against yours and you're nearly limp in his lap, torn between thinking too much and simply enjoying how divine Farkas is.

This orgasm steals your breath. It rails through you with little warning, wave after wave of pleasure stealing your breath. Farkas is there to catch you, of course he is. His warm hand rubs over your back and his nose is in your hair, inhaling like he enjoys the scent of your sweat.

Are you fucking crying? Everything in your body feels too good to explain but too many emotions have burst past whatever wall you built. You're clinging to Farkas' shoulder, twitching and whining while the final orgasm wrecks you. Tears stream down your face and you pray he doesn't feel them, that you'll get a moment to collect yourself.

Gentle hands cup your face, insistent as they draw you from his shoulder. Why the hell are you crying? Farkas is obviously worried. The mood is ruined, yet you can't stop the weird pain creeping through you.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No." You manage to sniffle, swiping at your overheated cheeks. Farkas draws you closer until his nose brushes against yours, his fingers chilly on your face. He's too sweet, you can't possibly explain it to him.

"Sorry." You mumble, beginning the humiliating act of standing from his lap. His cock slides out of you and you're left with an ache in your lower body but he doesn't let you get far. Farkas chases after you, keeping you planted firmly in his lap.

"It's nothing."

"This isn't nothing." He insists, thumbs wiping your tears. "Tell me what's happening."

"I can't -" your voice cracks and it's your undoing. A sob tears up your throat and as your body recovers you feel the soreness, the tension, that deep sadness in your chest you've been ignoring for weeks.

I love you.

You can't say it. You'll destroy whatever's left of your friendship. Farkas is just helping you because he's bored and you're inexperienced. It shouldn't mean anything to you, it certainly isn't anything special to him. You attempt to swallow the wad of emotions threatening to make you look even more foolish and find it terribly difficult to meet his eyes.

"Sorry." You reiterate because there's nothing more you can bear to say. Farkas is staring incredulously at you, those soft lips parted as if he's going to demand an answer. You brace yourself for his confusion or his anger or something but Farkas simply deflates.

"I love you," he whispers it into your chest, terrified to meet your gaze. He may as well admit it. The guilt steals whatever concern he has left. You've figured him out somehow and Farkas' feelings have ruined everything. Why else would you be crying? It's all his fault - he let something slip, gave you a glimpse at his true feelings.

Surely you feel manipulated by him. He's kissed and touched and tasted every inch of your body under the belief that he was merely helping you find your preferences. He's taken advantage of your curiosity to sate his own filthy desires. Your friendship is certainly over.

"I'm so sorry, I know it fucks everything up. But I think I'm in love with you." He hiccups through the tears blurring his vision. Farkas indulges in the sensation of your body shifting closer to him for likely the last time.

"Farkas -"

"You don't have to say anything." His voice sharpens and he hates the way he pulls away from you. You're staring down at him with those teary eyes that break his heart and Farkas prays you'll be swift when putting him out of his misery. Your fingers trace his jaw, his lips, trailing up his nose. Farkas sucks in a deep breath and tries to memorize how your skin feels on his before he loses it forever.