Feed Me Your Fics

Survival chic

Joel, Frankie, Ezra, Mario

These boys have it tough. Be it an apocalyptic world, somewhere in the Colombian jungle, or on another planet entirely. And yes, I had to add Mario.

Fun fact: all four survival boys wore gloves in the show/movie.

Office basic

Dave, Max P, Javier, Mr. Ben

I do love a shirt and pants ensemble sans suit jacket. I might be biased, but Mr. Ben might have stolen the show with his sexy specs.

Office chic

Whiskey, Javier, Max Lord, Marcus

These are some sharply dressed boys. The tailoring on Whiskey's suit in particular is *chef's kiss*.

Military chic

Javier, Dave, Veracruz, Pero

Pedro boys look good in fatigues, huh? Although Pero does steal the show with his medieval armour.

Extra AF

Oberyn, Din, The Thief, Meemaw

These guys (and meemaw) need no introduction, am I right? Neither does meemaw, with her rip-off Anna Wintour bob and fancy frames.

Comfortcore

Javi G, Dieter, Joel, Charlie

These are the guys you know would be so soft to cuddle with. Except Joel, who's definitely all contractor™ muscle underneath that tshirt he keeps wearing inside out.

Related posts:

Pedro boys hair matrix

Pedro boys facial hair matrix

How long will Pedro boys survive the apocalypse

Survival chic

Joel, Frankie, Ezra, Mario

These boys have it tough. Be it an apocalyptic world, somewhere in the Colombian jungle, or on another planet entirely. And yes, I had to add Mario.

Fun fact: all four survival boys wore gloves in the show/movie.

Office basic

Dave, Max P, Javier, Mr. Ben

I do love a shirt and pants ensemble sans suit jacket. I might be biased, but Mr. Ben might have stolen the show with his sexy specs.

Office chic

Whiskey, Javier, Max Lord, Marcus

These are some sharply dressed boys. The tailoring on Whiskey's suit in particular is *chef's kiss*.

Military chic

Javier, Dave, Veracruz, Pero

Pedro boys look good in fatigues, huh? Although Pero does steal the show with his medieval armour.

Extra AF

Oberyn, Din, The Thief, Meemaw

These guys (and meemaw) need no introduction, am I right? Neither does meemaw, with her rip-off Anna Wintour bob and fancy frames.

Comfortcore

Javi G, Dieter, Joel, Charlie

These are the guys you know would be so soft to cuddle with. Except Joel, who's definitely all contractor™ muscle underneath that tshirt he keeps wearing inside out.

Related posts:

Pedro boys hair matrix

Pedro boys facial hair matrix

How long will Pedro boys survive the apocalypse

Now, much later in life, you’d perfected lying. You lied like you breathed. Tells well hidden, truths spread like jam on burnt bread, just enough to hide the taste. You didn’t want to be punished, or caught. It wasn’t about waiting for someone to call you out. Lying was a language you spoke fluently and without equal, and was a competition with only yourself as audience.

Take tonight, for example. You’d lied to your friends that you didn’t feel well enough to go out. You’d lied to the bartender about why you were here. You’d even lied to the Uber driver, who could care less why you were coming to a swank hotel bar this late at night. But that’s three unsuspecting participants and three more tallies on the invisible scoreboard. 

The truth, not that you’d ever say it, was that you were bored. Endlessly, achingly bored. If you had to listen to one more pregnancy story, or upcoming wedding plans, or theorize on whatever show everyone was watching this time, you might actually scream. So tonight you forewent the Mexican restaurant your friends love and came here.

The bar is lush in a way that makes you salivate. Burgundy velvet chairs flank dark leather Chesterfield couches, artfully arranged to create the illusion of privacy underneath the cathedral ceilings. Royal blue and black brocade wallpaper flanks you as you approach the bar, black walnut wrapped around a towering wall of liquor. The stools glint gold as you slide onto one, balancing delicately. It’s not until you put in your drink order and settle back that you see them.

Once you do, you’re not sure how they escaped your observation. Two men seated at a high top overlooking city lights, casually sipping from rocks glasses. One is clean shaven, short haired and neatly dressed. Corporate attire - a tidy suit, tie, crisp white shirt. His face is soft in the table’s candlelight, eyes crinkled in the corners enough to know he enjoys himself without reservation. 

The other man holds some of the same features - large hands swirling alcohol in his tumbler, dark hair and eyes, a broad build - but the similarities end with the confidence he’s exuding. His outfit is more cowboy chic, dark jeans and a gray suit jacket over a light pink shirt with a peek of suspenders under the lapel. His boots hook over a stool rung, tilted back as his companion leans forward. The smirk painting his face paired with his teasing eyes quirks a smile of your own. Definitely cocksure, and possibly for good reason if those tight jeans were anything to go by.

Then the cowboy reaches across the table and pinches the other man’s chin between his thick fingers, a softer look gracing his face. The other man flushes a light pink, eyes casting down as his smile turns bashful.

Suddenly you’re too hot, snapping your gaze back to your drink.

Not for you.

Not that you’d assumed either of them would turn their attention your way. They were both your type in a room with surprisingly few options, but the night is young, and your drink has barely been touched. You lift it to your lips for a small sip, letting the liquor burn in the way good sex can light you aflame (an experience you’d been low on lately) when a voice murmurs at your shoulder.

“Drinking alone?” 

The blushing companion is now at your elbow, respectful but close enough that it makes your skin tingle. He leans on the bar, nodding once to the bartender with a smile before redirecting his attention back to your purposefully neutral expression.

“For now,” you reply cryptically, taking a sip of your drink as you peek at him over the rim. His smile widens, a glint of teeth between soft, kissable lips. Shouldn’t have been fantasizing about a conquest tonight, now you’re too keyed in to a man who’s out of your league in several ways. 

“Would you like some company while you wait? My partner and I have a table,” he says as two glasses slide into his grasp. You shrug.

“My friends will be here soon.”

Liar.

“Of course. One drink.”

“Only one.”

Liar.

“As the lady wishes.”

One drink turns into two, your wits still about you but your attention pleasingly bewitched by the couple. Marcus, the one who approached, is an FBI agent specializing in art crimes, which you unabashedly question him about while the cowboy smirks in your periphery. 

“You can tell the difference between a fake and an original on sight?” 

Marcus chuckles into the rim of his glass, tongue peeking out to stop an errant drop. 

“Only the very bad ones. The good ones need analysis, imaging, carbon dating. But it’s amazing to see how far someone will go.”

His knee knocks into yours and remains there.

The cowboy’s name is Jack Daniels, which makes you scoff until he raises an eyebrow at you. He even works at a distillery, though he was a field agent in a past life. That’s how he and Marcus met, the mention exchanging fondness that makes you gaze into your own drink for distraction. He orders a round of Statesman as proof of his fine taste, and you have to agree it’s much better than the whiskey most men offer you as though you know nothing of liquor. 

He lifts his boot to catch on the low rung of your stool, opening the span of his thighs to you. If you didn’t know better you would think these two were…

“We have a question for you, darlin,” Jack says when the drinks run dry, pinning you with a smirk. You straighten your spine, chin lifted to pre-empt your refusal.

You didn’t want to see what these men might offer.

Liar.

“Marcus saw you come in and thought you were about the prettiest thing he’d laid eyes on. But I’m a little more discerning. I like women to be smarter than me.” You roll your eyes but he keeps on running that smooth Southern drawl. “Which you are. Clearly. So I’m gonna ask you this for the both of us, and it only goes for the both of us. Package deal.”

Your eyes dart between Jack and Marcus, observing their drastically different postures. Marcus is nervous, hands folded tightly in front of him, eyes locked on them as he worries at his lower lip. Jack, on the other hand, is a man negotiating a deal and has all the confidence in the world, though he’s tuned in to Marcus’ discomfort. You wonder briefly if this is how they work best, Jack taking the lead. The thought blares heat across your chest.

“What would you like to ask?” you reply cooly, even though your heart hammers so loud you’re sure they can hear it. It’s under control until Jack’s eyes flick down to your hand worrying at your glass. His gaze flits up - caught.

“We’d like to invite you up to our room,” Jack says simply, leaning back in his seat. Marcus finally tears his eyes from his hands and watches for your reaction. You smirk at them both.

“For a nightcap?” you ask innocently, but the dark humor that spreads over Jack’s face shakes your resolve.

“No, darlin, we’d like to invite you into our bed. If that’s favorable to you, of course,” Jack says, the game ping-ponging between you as Marcus watches. 

“I assumed I wasn’t your type,” you stall, interrogating yourself about the offer. Did you want to let them lead you away from here? 

You’re definitely not bored anymore. If anything you’re aching at the thought.

“You are,” Marcus interjects, pulling your attention from Jack’s intense stare. His face is open, eager, kind. He seems like the kind of man who wears soft sweaters and asks you how your day was and actually listens. What a pair they make. 

“I’d like to have an idea of what I’m getting myself into before agreeing to anything,” you say, but your voice is getting shakier by the minute. Marcus slides his hand across the table, fingertips lightly grazing the back of your hand. It’s grounding, comforting.

Electric.

“Safety for everyone, of course. Protection all around,” Jack says, speaking in a low voice that urges you to lean forward. It gives him the opportunity to graze his fingers along your thigh in a featherlight touch that burns you with arousal. “Marcus likes it when I take charge, but you’re our guest so whatever your comfort level is, we’ll respect. If you’d like to take a break or end it at any time, we stop.”

Then Jack leans in and destroys the final barriers between you and your decision.

“We both like to eat pussy, and will make you cum several times before fucking you. Marcus likes to be inside while I fuck him, but I’d like to feel you squeeze around me too. I won’t leave marks if you ask, but I like to use my mouth, and my teeth. Marcus wants to kiss you, often, and very thoroughly. He might be quiet now, but he’s vocal as hell when you get him riled up. I’m likely to never shut up unless my mouth’s busy.” 

Your breath is coming in quick pants now, Marcus’ fingers sliding along the back of your hand to open your fist and slip inside. Jack’s heavy hand on your thigh feels like all that’s keeping you held to the earth. Sensing your hesitation, Marcus leans in and breathes into your ear.

“Would you like that, sweetheart?”

You don’t hear your agreement over the rushing in your ears, but their twin smiles of satisfaction confirm it.

Staring into the mirror and psyching yourself up to leave the bathroom, you adjust your lingerie for the eighth time. Mauve lace clings to your breasts, your hips, just opaque enough to be pretty instead of lewd. In this moment you wish it was more exciting, more daring for these men who offered you a spot in their bed. How tame you must seem after all the bravado you showed in the bar.

You’re not ready for this.

Liar.

Gathering up your last bit of courage, you saunter into the hotel bedroom. You’d left Jack and Marcus there fully clothed, knowing smiles and the beginnings of flirty touches the last thing you’d seen. Now, you’re treated to a much more mouthwatering sight.

Jack is seated on the edge of the bed, jacket discarded and suspenders loose by his thighs. His shirt is messy and untucked, one final button around his stomach holding on for dear life after all the others abandoned their posts. His pants are open, and as you come to a stop you’re treated to Marcus’ deep groan as he swallows Jack’s cock to the base. His throat works as Jack tips his head back and sighs, hips gyrating a fraction against Marcus’ eager mouth. 

Fuck, it’s hot and drives a spike of arousal straight to your cunt. Marcus’ strong back, bare and rippling across Jack’s lap, begs for your fingers to dig into his meaty shoulders. You catch him palming at his crotch, big brown eyes opening to look up at Jack. He’s rewarded with thick fingers carding through his short brown hair, pulling back to breathe heavily on the tip of Jack’s cock before descending again.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Jack rasps when you realize you’ve been staring too long. His hand extends to you, and for a moment you think it’s better to leave them to it. They clearly have history, and chemistry. You don’t belong here.

Liar.

You slide your hand into Jack’s, letting him lead you to sit beside him. Sinking into his side, he gives you the perfect view to look down at Marcus’ thorough deep-throating. His eyes drag up, and the hand gripping Jack’s thigh now comes to rest on yours. He’s firm but gentle, kneading the flesh there.

“I’d like to kiss you, sweetheart,” Jack whispers into the shell of your ear, dragging his lips just to your neck to press a featherlight kiss. You’re hesitant, but he lets you breathe against his mouth before leaning forward just enough to press your lips together. The wet mouth noises Marcus is choking out below you are a strange soundtrack to the sweetness of Jack’s kiss. He plies you with a few more, fuller, more forceful, before dragging his tongue over the seam of your lips. You part eagerly for him, meeting his full stroke with your quicker tongue. Jack groans into your mouth, the beginning of a smile curling against the corner of your lips. 

“Now him,” he says, leaning back and guiding your head down to Marcus. He slips off Jack’s wet cock, jutting thick and proud, and rises on his knees to take your head in his hands. There’s less hesitation here; you melt fully into Marcus’ kiss. Jack was right, Marcus kisses thoroughly, patiently, diving deep before pulling back to let you breathe. It builds a fire under your skin, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

Distantly you feel Jack’s thick fingers unclasp your bra, then his hands - callused in places that made you wonder if he was a real cowboy once - guide you to lay back on the bed. You part from Marcus with a small sigh, but Jack follows you down, the scrape of his mustache on your throat as he slips his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. Settling on your back, Marcus’ hands slide under your knees and soon the smooth expanse of his back surges under your calves. 

“Look at this,” Marcus hums, stroking down your thighs. Jack hums in agreement as he slips your bra off, the cool air tightening your nipples. “Anything you don’t like, sweetheart?” Jack’s mouth distracts you as he blows across the swell of your breast, making your back arch at the sensation.

“No teeth,” you say, finally hazarding a look down your body at the men driving you to madness. Jack looks visibly disappointed, which makes you tug at his well-coiffed locks. “For him, not you.” Marcus breaks into a smile and honest-to-goodness chuckles between your legs, and Jack winks up at you before a slip of pink tongue wraps around your nipple. Any further instruction is wiped from your mind as you arch into the clever heat of his mouth, paired with the squeeze of his other hand around your neglected breast. His teeth graze your nipple, hips rolling involuntarily before getting pressed firmly into the bed.

“Can’t wait to taste this,” Marcus murmurs, and two fingers slide underneath the gusset of your panties, knuckles dragging through your folds. He leaves open-mouthed kisses below your bellybutton, dragging his nose down to smell you through the thin lace. You want so desperately to focus but so many hands pulling you apart so effortlessly has your eyes rolling up into your head and your body writhing. 

Finally, Marcus licks a wide path along your lacy slit as Jack rolls your nipple between his fingers and you keen out a desperate moan.

“Oh, baby, sounds like someone needs you to make her cum,” Jack teases into your neck, sliding his hand down and into your panties to tease your aching clit. Marcus is still licking along the lace, pressing his tongue at your entrance just enough that their touches light up every nerve carrying pleasure to your lust-soaked brain.

“Let me take these off you and get you all over my face,” Marcus purrs, lifting your hips to drag the last scrap of clothing off your body. They’re both still half-clothed and looking at you like a goddess draped across the bed, and it almost makes you balk.

Liar. It makes you even more excited.

Jack removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth with a low hum while Marcus noses your inner thigh. You can’t stop your legs from trembling, but Marcus’ firm grip steadies you as he finally licks a slow path through your folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, arching into the pillows as Jack presses your hips back on the bed. 

“He’s good, ain’t he? Wicked tongue on him, and I swear he’s half fish, never needs to come up for air,” Jack teases, pressing his body against your side and stroking through Marcus’ short hair. He nips at your earlobe as Marcus begins lapping rhythmically at your entrance, his nose firm on your clit and his jaw bobbing against you. The waves of his tongue, the jolt of that hawkish nose, the dark pride simmering in his eyes as he watches you, all burn under your skin. Your orgasm is fast approaching, nipples tight and aching. Sliding your thumb over one, you coax the honey-sweet ache of arousal out against Marcus’ tongue. Jack notices and joins you, stroking his rougher ones over the sensitive buds. His cock ruts lazily against your hip, and you slide your hand around him to pump him in time with your rolling hips.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so good,” he praises, sinking his teeth into the top of your breast just hard enough that prickles of pain pull you away from your heady arousal. It slams back into you the moment he releases the sensitive flesh, laving his tongue over the indents his teeth left behind.

“C’mon baby, that’s it, you’re so close,” Marcus encourages between your legs, lips barely leaving before doubling down. His whole head rocks against your cunt, long licks and drags of his lips and nose and chin through your messy sex. He must be coated in you, thick and tangy across his clean-shaven face. If Jack did the same, he’d carry you in that perfectly groomed mustache.

That image, Jack with his mustache dripping with your release, tightens your core as Marcus urges your hips to roll against him, chasing your orgasm frantically as he growls into your cunt. 

“Give it to me, baby, cum on my face, I know you have it right there for me, fucking give it to me. Cum on me. Cum on me now,” he orders, and with Jack’s whispered “He’s been so good, cum for him sweetheart,” you’re tightening around Marcus’ head and shaking through a fucking full-body orgasm. Faintly you hear Marcus chanting, “Yes, yes, that’s it baby, that’s it,” and Jack purring a diatribe of, “Good girl, you’re cumming so good for us, look at that, fucking gorgeous.” The room fades around the edges, the boys all you can focus on. Marcus’ eyes are shining with triumph, wiping his face as he beams up between your legs. Jack hovers over you, pride and sinful promise in his smile.

“That was a very good one, Marcus. Gonna give me a run for my money,” he says, stroking your cheek as you try to come back to the real world from your sky-high journey. The comforting warmth at your side fades as Jack sits up on the bed, tugging Marcus by his hair. Blearily you watch them kiss, tongues peeking out from their pressed lips as Jack tastes you on Marcus. He reaches down and deftly unbuttons Marcus’ pants, shoving everything down to reveal his weeping cock. Jack’s palms it, nodding to Marcus who leans over just enough to spit on his own cock before Jack gives him a few slow, firm strokes. You can tell how much Marcus is affected, mouth dropping into an O as his eyes drifting shut. Jack indulges him a few passes more before pulling a condom out of his pocket.

“Fill her up, pretty boy, she’s been so patient.”

You prop yourself up on shaky elbows as Marcus rolls the condom on, hazy gaze kindling the remains of your orgasm into a new possibility. He slots his hips between your thighs, crawling up your body to kiss you with the remains of your taste on his tongue. Jack stole most of it, but you can still relish in your tang.

“I want to fuck you, baby, can I? I’ll stretch you out good first,” he asks against your lips, the head of his cock resting just on your mound. He fists it and draws circles on your clit with the tip, your spine pulling tight up under him.

“Yes, Marcus, want you inside me,” you gasp, but before he fits his perfect cock inside he pumps two gloriously thick fingers into your cunt, stroking at your velvet soaked walls before curling them wickedly.

“So tight. Fuck, Jack, you’re gonna love this,” Marcus husks, scissoring his fingers and swirling his thumb over your sensitive clit. 

“Want to show her what you’ve been hiding, handsome?” Jack asks innocently, but you see goosebumps raise along Marcus’ arms and shoulders when the cowboy nips at his ear, winking at you. “Reach back here, darlin’, and feel,” Jack instructs as you follow the path of his hand around Marcus’ hip. He guides you to the smooth base of the plug in Marcus’ ass, making him shudder when you press your fingers against it.

“He’s been waiting all night for this, would you let me fuck him while he fucks you?” Jack asks. You trace a finger around Marcus’ stretched hole and he drops his head to your shoulder with a choked groan.

“You want that, Marcus? Want to fill me while Jack fills you?” His stuttering breath warms your neck as he nods. Reaching back, you prop yourself up with a couple pillows so you can better watch, your hands cupping Marcus’ face as Jack slowly works the plug out of him. When his mouth drops open you stroke your thumb along his bottom lip, pulling his attention from any discomfort back to you. Marcus empties out a sigh when Jack pulls the sensible black plug from him and places it on the bedside table. He returns with a slim bottle of lube that he dribbles onto his fingers.

“Now Marcus, I want you to put the tip in her and get yourself good and hard while I slide into your pert little ass. Once I’m in and you’re settled I’ll set the pace. Don’t want you hurting yourself.” The gentle instruction warms your skin as Jack smooths his hands over Marcus’ back and sides. He nods and you stroke your fingers through his hair reassuringly.

“You’re gonna feel so good inside me,” you say, circling your hips against his cock as he fists himself again. 

“You’re beautiful,” Marcus whispers, and as he wedges just the tip of his thick cock inside you he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. The shallow stretch makes your toes curl, one of Jack’s hands massaging your calf as his mouth smacks against Marcus’ spine.

“Ready?” he asks one last time.

“Yes, Jack, please…”

The litany of moans and gasps Marcus litters onto your skin lights your arousal further aflame as Jack curses and pushes in. You’re enraptured by the concentration on his face, the tick of his jaw and swipes of his tongue over his lower lip as he thrusts shallowly into Marcus’ tight channel. You can feel every jolt in your cunt when he presses Marcus just a little further forward, burying himself just a little deeper inside you. It’s slow as cold molasses and driving Marcus to bliss. When he begins backing up against Jack you stroke his back, and Jack’s larger hand covers yours.

“Fuck, feel so full,” Marcus manages to say, and Jack leans over to kiss along his shoulders. Your mouth is already at the juncture of his neck, and Jack meets your lips with his own. Marcus turns his head enough to kiss you behind your ear, and to catch the hinge of Jack’s sharp jaw with a scrape of teeth.

“Okay sweethearts, I’m gonna fuck you now. Slow to start. Get our rhythm.” Jack then pulls back and thrusts forward hard enough to bury the rest of Marcus’ length inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, Marcus already being guided back out before Jack fucks him back into you. “Oh holy shit, ohhhh fuck, yes, please, oh fuck it’s so good,” you moan brokenly, Marcus cupping your cheek and pressing his mouth to yours. You open for him, his tongue plunging into you as he pounds your cunt over and over again. The wet slaps are offset by the slick squelches of Jack’s cock fucking into Marcus, timing his thrusts just right to let you both feel every ridge and vein inside and around you. 

“Fuck, you both are so fucking hot,” Jack grits out, one hand gripping your hip, the other Marcus’, as he set a faster pace. Marcus drops to his elbows and rolls his hips harder, snapping into you and back onto Jack. The quiet moans he was hiding before erupt into full-throated shouts, which Jack muffles by shoving his fingers into Marcus’ mouth. He drools around them, and when his glazed eyes meet yours you lick the back of Jack’s knuckles and over Marcus’ lips.

“Filthy girl, knew you were,” Jack pants. “You close, handsome?” 

Marcus nods frantically, eyebrows pinching and fisting the sheets as he speeds up from Jack’s rhythm to chase his orgasm. Jack chuckles before folding over you both, crushing Marcus to your chest.

“I’ve got you, baby boy.” With that Jack pounds into you both, Marcus buried so deep you can feel Jack’s thrusts nudge him against your g-spot. You grip their hair, Jack’s eyes locking with yours as he growls through each thrust. 

“Call him a good boy, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Marcus, you’re so good for me, feel so good inside. Cum for me like a good boy, Marcus.”

That’s all it takes, and Marcus is howling into your neck as Jack grinds deep. His cock pulses heavily inside you, the force of his orgasm shivering through his limbs as they lock and release. Finally he lets go, slumping his full weight onto your chest. Jack kisses the back of his neck, fingers stroking down his arms and soothing him through the aftershocks.

“You’ve got a way with him, darlin’, he rarely cums that hard,” Jack coos, sliding his arms around Marcus to guide him off. Rolling him to his back, Jack peppers Marcus’ face with soft kisses as he weakly throws an arm around Jack’s back. His other hand searches for yours, twining your fingers together as he blinks sleepily between you both.

“Shit, that was amazing,” he croaks, sending Jack to the bathroom for a glass of water and to dispose of the condoms. “C’mere, wanna hold you,” he adds, tugging you to curl up against his side. His hands roam your back, nose pressed against your forehead as his rapid heartbeat begins to slow. It’s oddly romantic, happy to give and receive this moment of comfort. But you’re sure it’s the end of the night, and you’ll be fine going back home soon.

Liar.

“Now darlin’, as good of a time as it looks like you were having, I don’t think you came,” Jack says once Marcus has had a good long drink and settled back into the pillows. 

“I had plenty of fun,” you say lazily, stroking Marcus’ chest as it rises and falls. Jack tuts and shakes his head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Told you I wanted to eat your pussy too. Come sit on my face and let me give you another. Then, if you’re not too tired out, I’ll have you sit on my cock too.” 

Heat races over your body, and Marcus unwinds you from his arms. 

“Go on, gorgeous, Jack’s tongue is a treat you should never turn down,” he teases. “I’ll be along as soon as I catch my breath.”

Sitting up, you scoot closer to Jack as a strange nervousness settles in. Marcus is so open and easy to read, while Jack’s expressions always seem veiled behind a layer of showmanship and bravado. You find yourself worrying that you won’t be enough for him, for what he wants.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Jack interrupts your racing thoughts as he strokes his palm up your thigh. You shake your head, forcing a smile on.

“Nothing,” you say, your voice catching in your throat. Jack chews on his lower lip for a moment, then wraps his arms around your waist and guides you onto his lap. Straddling him, you hover as he pets your hips, smooths your back, and noses your neck with a gentle kiss along your collarbone.

“If it’s nerves, honey, then know that I have been looking forward to tasting, and fucking you all night. I want your tits in my mouth, your pussy, your tongue. I want to devour you, you’re so delicious.” He guides your hips down to press against his cock, hard and hot as he slips the soft skin against your wet folds. “You cannot possibly disappoint me, I could cum from your voice alone.” 

“Jack…” you breathe, and he leans back, pulling you along with him. Once flat on his back he guides your nipple into his mouth, humming indulgently as he teases the bud with his fast tongue and harsh sucks. You arch into his mouth, the length of his cock grinding against your clit. Switching to the other one, he nips lightly and chuckles when you jolt against him. His large hands paw at your ass, spreading your cheeks and kneading at the supple flesh. He cracks his hand against one with a sharp slap, soothing it with a stroke after. You’re dripping on him now, grinding along his length.

“Perfect, sweetheart, now climb up and put that hot little pussy on my face,” he orders, and all self-consciousness drips away as you climb up his body. Before you settle around his shoulders he taps your hip and guides you to swing around so you’re facing his neglected cock, hovering over his greedy mouth.

“Want your hand around my cock while I eat you out,” he says before pulling you down on his face. 

No matter the thorough fucking you just endured, Jack’s thick tongue sends a shudder up your spine, needing to grab his wrists. He hums into your folds, faster flicks than Marcus against your clit.

“I’m gonna drink you down, darlin’,” he purrs into your cunt, canting your hips so he can better seal his pouty lips around your clit. Falling forward, you loosely stroke Jack’s aching cock, throbbing with need after being denied his orgasm. Letting a dribble of spit drip onto his length, you slick him up to take a tighter grip. When your fingers glance over the ridge of his head his stomach tightens, hips rocking up to meet your strokes. 

“Your cock is gorgeous, Jack,” you praise, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the tip. The groan he lets out vibrates against your sex, eliciting your own pleasured sigh as he slips his tongue inside you.

“He’s very good at using it,” Marcus says just next to your shoulder, sliding off the bed to kneel between Jack’s knees. He replaces your hand on Jack’s cock, urging you to sit back up on Jack’s face. He worships your breasts with soft sucks and nibbles, working you both up higher and higher. You can feel Jack’s movements getting sloppier, distracted gasps bursting between your legs when he takes a moment to bask in his own pleasure. You weave your hands into Marcus’ hair, scratching along his scalp as he kisses his way up your neck and back to your waiting mouth. 

“Mmm, sweetheart he’s not gonna last much longer, and I know he wants to cum in you too. Let me wrap him up and then you can fuck his cock.” Marcus takes a moment to tear open a condom as you shuffle down Jack’s body. His mouth leaves you with a parting lick to your back entrance, the ticklish sensation making you giggle and scratch your nails down his flexing stomach. When you’re hovering over his cock, Marcus’ hand on the base guiding Jack in, he sits up behind you. 

“Most beautiful thing I’ll ever get to experience,” Jack murmurs, plastering his chest to your back and wrapping his arms around you. He guides you down as Marcus steadies him in, filling you so differently but so completely. 

“Fuck, Jack, you feel amazing,” you croon, head thrown back against his shoulder. Marcus lifts up on his knees to kiss Jack, clever fingers petting at your clit as you lift up just enough to let Jack feel the drag of your tight cunt, then back down to his base to elicit a wanton groan.

“Darlin’, you feel like heaven. Don’t know how Marcus didn’t bust immediately.” Marcus nips his Adam’s apple and switches to mouthing at your throat, both of their lips dancing along the expanse of your sweat-slicked skin. Sandwiched between them, the slide of their bodies against yours is addictive, intoxicating, endless in the pleasure it brings. Your cunt clenches around Jack, and he chuckles darkly in your ear before snapping his hips up into you.

“There’s my good girl, so tight around me. I’m gonna fuck you as hard and long as I can, but fuck me if you don’t feel like the best thing I’ve ever put my cock in.” Jack grabs the back of Marcus’ head and pulls him back to meet eyes. “Lick her clit, pretty boy.”

You didn’t think your arousal could climb any higher, but looking down to see Jack’s length sliding in and out of you paired with Marcus sinking down to lick a stripe from the base of Jack’s cock to your clit almost kills you. Marcus’ boyish smile would be your gravestone if you didn’t remember to breathe.

“Holy fuck,” you choke out as he lays out his thick pink tongue to stroke over and over along your joined bodies.

“Damn right, you’re doing so good for us Marcus,” Jack grits out, pulling you down on his fat cock so you don’t bounce away from Marcus’ talented tongue.

“Could do better,” Marcus says thoughtfully, reaching for the bottle of lube. Slicking up his fingers, he slides his hand down to tease Jack’s rim.

“Fuck, baby, you know how I like that,” Jack groans, bringing a wicked smile to Marcus’ face. Kissing your mound, Jack tenses hard under you with a broken gasp. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, yes baby, that’s fucking perfect, you keep your fingers right there while I cum in her. Just like that, sweet boy.”

Leaning down you grab Marcus by the jaw and devour him, teeth clacking briefly as you fill his mouth with your tongue. He whimpers below you before you part, lips spit-slicked and slacked.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart, Marcus you better…” Jack threatens but Marcus is already latching his mouth onto your clit, sucking hard and fast while his fingers flex inside Jack. The relentless grind against your g-spot, the ruthless pressure on your clit, the overwhelming ache that can’t build anymore before it needs to go somewhere washes over you, and you cum with a wail on these two gorgeous men. Jack follows as your walls flutter around him, with a litany of, “That’s it baby, your pussy’s so fucking good, I’m…oh shit, I’m cumming, M-Marcus baby don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop, oh shiiiiii…” You faintly wonder if Marcus came again before a spurt of hot cum against your calf answers your question.

The silence that follows, filled with gasps and panting and weak hands on skin, is the moment you dread. It’s the last moment before the peace and quiet in your mind fades, urging you to gather up your clothes and go before you say something or do something that will ruin this. But with Marcus wrapping his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder, and Jack pressed against your back, you have no place to go. 

“Thank you, darlin’, that was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, wouldn’t you agree?” Jack says, pressing a line of kisses from behind your ear to the curve of your shoulder. Marcus leans back and thumbs your chin, tired eyes and a loose smile.

“Definitely. Can we take care of you now, sweetheart?” 

Your eyebrows must have pulled up into a frown, because Marcus chuckles just a little and cradles your head.

“What, you thought we’d fuck you and make you leave?” he teases, and you have to school your face carefully. You didn’t expect them to be this caring, or kind.

Liar.

Then you didn’t expect them to want more than your body once they were through.

Liar.

Then what did you expect?

Marcus thankfully speaks, similar to that that soothing way Jack enticed you here.

“Well then, I’m going to take you into the shower to clean you up, and Jack’s gonna make the bed and join us after. Once we’re clean and hydrated, I’m going to put on The Thin Man and we’re going to get into bed together. If you’re not comfortable spending the night, I understand. But I - we - want you to. Not just because tomorrow morning I want to wake you up with both of our heads between your legs.” Jack slides out of you and holds you in his arms, nuzzling into the back of your neck. 

“I don’t…” you try to say, both men waiting patiently. “I didn’t expect this. I don’t know what to do now.”

Liar.

You know exactly what to do. 

Stay.

Marcus’ lopsided smile and Jack’s pressed into your skin are promises you never asked for, but would gladly accept.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

END

You played the doting wife as he left, waved him off. Angelo had even crossed the street to join you on the sidewalk with a wave of his own. Your husband felt 'reassured that a Doctor would be around to keep an eye on you'.

If only he knew the doctor in question had given you a very through physical on the three occasions you had met as well as being the first man you had anal sex with. Something that he took a ridiculous amount of pride in. He'd had Nico train you for hours while he wasn't there. Angelo had cursed in a number of languages as he had finally been able to full sheath himself inside you. Nico had smiled warmly at Angelo's joy in his achievement. He'd even pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Something that was a rarity. His softness only bled through now and then.

Nico's was always softer when Angelo was around. His house was warmer, more full of life. Not that Nico wasn't fun, just sometimes there was something with him. Instead of being confident and uninhibited it was as if a wall was put up, a line in the sand he couldn't cross, like he had to rein himself in.

While Nico showered one day, Angelo painted your toes. Black, a colour you would have never chosen on your own but you had to agree it looked chic. It was one of his favourites, you'd noticed since he hated wearing shoes. He held your leg up, careful brushed the colour on, pressing the odd kiss to your calf. "Angelo?" He hummed back at you, engrossed it his work. "How did you and Nico meet?"

The tiny brush in his hand paused on your pinkie toe. "He didn't tell you?"

That answer to that seemed obvious. "No."

"That might be something you want to ask him. He can be very private."

"You can't even give me a hint?" The foot that he had just released made it's way to his lap.

"Oh." He groaned indecently at the contact. "Hey, you'll smudge." He pushed your foot away.

"Please?"

"No, you can ask him."

A mock pout set on your lips. "Fine."

"Don't 'fine' me." He kissed your pout. His fingers came up to tease you through your panties. "I can't tell you anything but we can work on that g spot orgasm." As much as you wanted to know about Nico's past, the offer was more than tempting.

When you'd questioned why they put you in certain positions and marvelled at how good it felt, they had decided to show you. Nico's expensive sheets and cloud like mattress cradled you as the two men lay either side of you. Both dressed to a degree that was unfair. The only flesh on show were their forearms and a slither of their chests. You however were naked, legs spread wide both knees anchored by a man each.

"So you already know how to touch your clit." Angelo parted your folds, running a finger over the bundle of nerves in question. When you arched slightly as his touch, Nico dipped his head to your nipple, now in reach and swirled his tongue around it. A playful smirk on his face. You liked this Nico. This was when he seemed most at ease, with the two of you. When you were alone it was strangely business like. Not the sex itself, that was...fuck, mind blowing, transcendent, all sorts of other words you seen in those romance novels that you didn't believe actually applied to sex. Whether he was in charge or he was letting you take control, he was always present during the act itself but as soon as things were done, he closed off a little. He check you were okay, physically and emotionally. Offered you food and water, to walk you home. You'd always graciously decline, you both knew full well he would still wait on his porch until you were safely home. Not that he would admit to it or that you would admit to enjoying it.

The other Nico that was quickly growing on you was what Angelo called him being a 'sub'. It was when he let you or Angelo be in charge. Honestly, you weren't sure what you enjoyed more. Watching the two of them have sex was always an experience. The way it lit you up from the inside, you often wondered if you could come just from watching them take pleasure in each other's bodies. When you got to be in charge it was a whole other rush. From the moment Nico had placed the paddle in your hands, presented himself naked on all fours, willing, vulnerable, the power had been a trip. To make him come apart without touching him in a way you wouldn't usually consider sexual was thrilling. He enjoyed the pain. It was as if it was beyond a sexual need. It was clarifying. Grounding. Not that you ever brought it up to him. He was so through when describing the root of your needs and desires. He tell you why he thought they itched under your skin. Why you liked his boundaries. Why you liked the control. When it came his own, he was blunt, mechanical, he'd just tell you the physical act he needed.

When you were alone, the weeks between Angelo's visits, the guest room was where you spent your time together. It suited the situation better. It was spartan, designed for a purpose. Just as your time together was. Nico was open with the fact that he wasn't in this, what ever this was, for the intimacy. His touch never strayed from seductive or sexual. If his hand was on you it was for a purpose, it didn't linger. It may temporarily sooth but that's as far as it would go. It wasn't there to comfort or support. He wasn't there for that. He was there to satisfy you, fuck you to ecstasy, empower you. The room became his classroom, he taught you how to claim your high. He showed you things your hadn't even thought of. Foreplay was a big one. With your husband it consisted of a little making out to 'get in the mood'. Nico taught you it's purpose, how to make you dripping wet, how to get your blood pumping.

"Just like every taste, every touch, every smell, gets me harder, gets me physically ready, it does the same for you." His fingers had you spread so he could tease your engorged clit. "The more turned on you are, the easier it is to stimulate all the right places." He punctuated his sentence with a sharp suck of your clit.

He chuckled against your folds as your hips snapped up and a surprised moan let loose from you.

Making his way from the bed to his toy chest he pulled out what looked like a large leather tassle. Running his fingers thought it he presented it to you. "Do you want it?"

Curiosity got the better of you as you nodded. With a hand on your knee, Nico pulled you onto your side, crossing on leg over the other as he did, exposing your thigh to him. With a flick of his wrist he whipped the soft flesh there. The material was soft, it still left a little sting, it felt good. Like when he bit you or squeezed just a little too roughly.

He waited for you response. This wasn't something you wanted to explore tonight.

"Can we try something else? Can I try something on you?" Big brown eyes scanned yours in that way that he did. It was like he thought he could read everything about you if he looked hard enough.

"I think I have something." He pulled out a long velvet bag. Undoing the knot he shook something out of it. A long, ruby red dildo fell out into his hand.

"You can use this on me. It's going to need plenty of lube. What don't you help with that?" He slipped it between your legs, dragged it through your folds. "Come on, Kitten." He sat on the bed, grabbing the lube from it's now ever present place on his nightstand. He applied a generous amount. His large hand curled around the base, bracing the dildo against his thick thigh, he beckoned you over. "I want you to ride it until you come."

As you sunk down on it your lips parted in a gasp. Usual Nico would seize the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, steal your breath while it was so readily given. This time he just leant back on his elbow. "This is all you, Babygirl. Show me what you've learnt." Moving up and down on the toy the only contact you had with Nico was odd graze of his fingers wrapped tightly around the base. This was all you. You were finding those spots he had no trouble seeking out, every time he was inside you. You were igniting the fire low in your belly, stoking it with every bounce. Shifting your position you found somewhere that made your legs shake with the intensity of it.

Nico could see you were close. "That's it. Take what you need. You don't need anyone to give you your pleasure. It's all in your control."

He was right. Working yourself on the toy, it was you in control, not Nico, not Angelo, certainly not your husband. You. You screamed as you made yourself orgasm.

"Good girl." Nico breathed as he watched you come down from your high, pussy trembling around the toy and leaking onto his thigh.

His cock was red from lack of attention. He wanted to bury it in you. Enjoy how wet you are right now but that's not what you asked for. Ignoring the heavy bob of his length between his legs he moved to retrieve the harness. After a few awkward giggles from you he got you set up. The dildo protruded from the apex of your thighs. "How do I...? I mean what do I...?" You'd asked, only for Nico to get on all fours on the bed. "You can work it out." He informed you before settling with his ass in the air.

Tentively, you lined the toy up with his enterance. Pushing your hips forward steadily you were met with resistance but the moan Nico let out told you that you were doing the right thing. If he were working himself into you this would be the point where he would start to pull back and thrust a little. You emulated the motion, earning another moan. The sounds you pulled from him spurred you on until you were, metaphorically, balls deep inside him. Using a strength you didn't know you had, you were fucking him roughly and he loved every minute of it. "Oh fuck, yeah. Right there, doing so well Honey. Gonna make me cum." He babbled into the sheets below him. He words stoked your pride, gave you the courage to copy him further. Mercilessly, you pounded the toy into him. His groans became so loud you could feel them in your own chest.

"Shit. Wait. Stop." He begged. Instantly you stopped.

Nico heaved himself off the toy to rearrange himself on his back. With his hands on his knee he spread himself wide. "Keep going. I just wanted you to see it."

Too lost in the power you had over this beautiful man, flushed, chest heaving, spread out ready for you, you didn't even ask what he meant before pushing back inside of him. Bottoming out you fucked him ruthlessly again. He clawed at the headboard behind him, the muscles in his arms straining deliciously. "Oh. Oh! Oh fuck." He began to arch off the bed as he came, leading your eyes down to his cock. It was stood straight away from his body, it pulsed and the head swelled briefly before a rope of cum shot out of it. Then another. And another. It was so strange to see Nico cum without touching his cock. It was also ridiculously arousing.

The memories served you in the here and now, aiding your arousal. Angelo's hand was over yours, his thick finger sliding in and out of your slick channel next to yours.

"That's it Bebita. Just find what works for you. The pace. The rhythm. You look so pretty all worked up. You're god damn stunning when you come. So free." He kissed you deeply.

When he moved back out of your eye line Nico was behind him. Water dripped from his curls, more pronounced than he usually wore them. A towel slung low on his waist did nothing to hide his erection. Dropping his towel as walked he adjusted his thick length.

"She can take care of herself." He shot a wink at you before lay Angelo on the bed, next to you.

Angelo groaned at the cool water from Nico's hair hit his chest, while Nico sucked on his nipple. Nico worked his way downward, sucking, nipping, licking at his golden skin until he came to his erection. Without hesitation he took Angelo's length deep into his throat. The chorus of moans between them made you desperate to find your peak. Angelo would moan at the sensation of his cock in Nico's warm, wet mouth. Nico would moan at giving Angelo pleasure, which vibrated against Angelo, giving him more pleasure and Nico more satisfaction. Nico's eyes never left yours. Even when yours closed or rolled back when they returned to the same spot Nico's eyes were there waiting. Even with his head bobbing on Angelo's cock.

"Ay Papi, I'm gonna cum." Angelo whined. Nico moved his head up from having his nose nestled in the curls at the base of Angelo's shaft. He pulled Angelo's cock from his mouth, leaving it open with his tongue pressed to the head. Nico's eyes burned into you as he pumped Angelo through his orgasm catching his release on his tongue. It was enough to trigger your own release as your muscles rhythmically clenched around your fingers. Your release gushed around them. Before your head was clear, Nico had removed your hand, he held it in his as sucked your juices from it. Wrapping his hand around his own girth, he fucked his fist. He didn't make a show out of it like he did when he watched you. It was quick and functional. The span of his massive hand did nothing to dwarf the size of his manhood. The squelch of lube and the rhythmic thwack of his fist against his balls mixed with his grunts and moans. It was a shock to see him come so quickly. Even with attention from both you and Angelo, his stamina was impressive. He coated your stomach in minutes. Angelo had partially recover and lazily he lapped at Nico's cum before coming to rest his head on your chest. Nico looked at the two of you fondly, you didn't expect him to lay down next you his head mirroring Angelo's. The afternoon passed in a lazy haze of touches. Each man making you cum with their fingers, as they kissed your breasts or each other. Each of them came at least once more from a combination of touches, yours, each other's, their own. By dinner time, the three of you had to go get cleaned up, with the copious amounts of bodily fluids painting your skins. Dinner was light but satisfying, a steak salad, paired with Nico's favourite wine. As the night drew in you were tempted to stay, you knew neither of them would objected. They would make you feel welcome and wanted. Part of you wanted to give in to it, to savour it a little longer. The rest of you knew it wasn't right, none of this was right.

As Nico and Angelo settled down for the night, you went home to take a step that you should have long ago and with new found focus on your own pleasure that Nico had inspired, you pulled out all your paper work and began making plans for your future.

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I'm so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don't already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart ❤️

It’s always busy in the Stateman’s main kitchen on Christmas morning. The smokey burn of firewood warms the cozy space as the radio blares holiday tunes. Poppy presides over the operations at the head of the table - everything is planned down to the T and everyone has a role.

On any other Christmas day, Jack would be her sous-chef, the one she relies on to keep everyone on schedule and in their place.

But alas, today is not any other Christmas day.

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

He turns off the tap that Jack’s left pouring into the already full kettle, draining the excess water and putting it on the boil.

There’s one slice of bread in the toaster, while another lies forgotten on the table, which Teak slides into the free slot and pushes down the lever.

Jack pulls a jar of pickles from the fridge unseeingly, putting it on the table and walking away in search of a mug under three sets of watching, worried eyes. Teak replaces it with his friend’s favourite strawberry jam without a word.

While the oblivious cowboy’s back is turned, Teak motions his hand and forth across his neck in a slicing motion, mouthing nope emphatically at the occupants of the kitchen table.

On his cue, Poppy clears her throat and speaks up, ‘Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go check on the horses after your toast? The stable boys want to leave work early today after doing their morning rounds.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he answers absent-mindedly, staring down into the empty mug in his grasp as if he’s lost his train of thought.

At that very moment, the toaster pops and Jack practically jumps out of his skin, stepping on Jameson’s paw where he’s lying on his rug in front of the fire, prompting an indignant yelp from the border collie and winces from around the table.

‘Sorry boy,’ he apologises and picks up his toast - burning his fingers - and stumbling over his feet to set his plate down. ‘Mornin’,’ he nods to the others without really registering who’s there.

Jack proceeds to butter his toast with such singular focus that he doesn’t notice when Tequila fills his still empty cup with coffee, only to knock it over immediately when a phone buzzes and his hand flies out to grab his. Ginger and Poppy trade concerned looks as he jumps onto his feet with another apology, snatching a tea towel to clean up the mess.

Eggsy, on potato peeling duty on the other side of the table, isn’t so diplomatic. ‘You’re jumpier than Bambi this morning, cowboy.’

Jack grunts noncommittally and chews on his toast, not rising to the bait.

‘Don’t be so nervous mate, we promise we’ll be on our best behaviour.’

Teak snorts from the kitchen counter where he’s making his PBJ. ‘I don’t know about England, but around these parts, lying on Christmas day is frowned upon.’

Eggsy replies high-handedly, ‘Can’t speak for you, Tequila, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

Ginger chuckles as Teak sits down at the table with his sandwich. ‘Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Jack points a forceful finger at the boys, one after the other. ‘I swear to the baby Jesus Christ, if you two don’t behave yourselves, there will be hell to pay.’

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

Ignoring the ruckus, Jack dusts the crumbs from his hands and shrugs on his jacket, grabbing a thermos and filling it up with fresh coffee. With a hurried later, he strides out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the frigid morning air.

Thermos tucked under his arm, Jack rubs his palms together, warming his fingertips with his breath as snow crunches beneath his well-worn boots. The ranch is blanketed in thick snow, a picture-perfect postcard landscape as it is every Christmas. The morning mist has yet to burn off, but he can tell by the peek of blue through the clouds that it will be a fine day.

If your flight is on time, you should be on your way by now. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you insisted that there’s no point in him driving all the way there when you already know the way. Depending on the conditions, it shouldn’t be long until you arrive.

His list of chores isn’t long this morning - the stable boys will be on duty until lunchtime - but still, he wants to tick all the boxes before you get here. Striding into the heated stables, he says howdy to the grooms and whistles, smiling as dozens of faces appear at the doors, ears pointed forwards in attention, snickering and whinnying at him.

This never gets old.

‘Mornin’ ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out, wandering down the stalls, rubbing a velvety nose here and pulling on a furry ear there. ‘Who’s ready to stretch their legs this fine mornin’, huh?’

Starting at the end of the stables, he unlatches Bourbon’s door and ushers him out of the stall, then crosses the aisle to let out Tanqueray, Champ’s elderly but still supremely poised Friesian, who clops leisurely towards the exit. Zig-zagging back and forth, Jack whistles, jostles and chats to the horses, all smartly dressed in warm rugs, as they file out down the corridor and into the courtyard for a bit of morning exercise while the stable boys mucked out their stalls.

‘No loitering, ma’am,’ says Jack sternly when Poppy’s mare, Pie, idles in the middle of the building. He gives her a firm pat on the rump to get her moving and whistles at one of the cheeky Shetland ponies who’s snuck into someone else’s stall. ‘Half-Pint! What did I say about stealing your friends’ treats? Shoo, now!’

The stables empty, the echoes of hooves on the concrete ground fading, with Scotch being one of the last to exit. Looping back to make sure there are no dilly-dalliers, Jack’s surprised to find the palomino, who would normally be leading the charge towards the grazing fields, still lingering at the barn doors.

‘Whatcha doin’, boy?’ he calls out.

Scotch tosses his head and steps to the side -

And you appear.

With the biggest grin, you run towards him and fly into his arms.

Your cheeks are wet, the spray of snow powder melting when it hits your skin. It drifts all around you as Scotch eats up the white ground, the thundering hooves muted by the soft cushion of the untouched, overnight snow. The mountain air is sweet and pure and stingingly cold, you can barely feel your face anymore - but it might just be from how hard you’ve been smiling.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a Christmas movie. The lush, green landscape you remember so well from your trip months ago is now all coated in wintry glory, but you still recognise the contours of the land and the mountains. It’s your first time in the saddle since - the whistle of the winds in your ear is a song you remember all the words to, the burn in your out-of-practice muscles all over a familiar old friend.

And you’re happy.

Slowing Scotch to an easy trot as you approach the end of the trail, your breath mists in front of your face as you look down over the ranch, a scene straight out of a classic snow globe, thin wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the wooden lodges dotted across the property.

Gently manoeuvring the palomino to a halt and giving him a pat on the neck, you turn to smile at Jack as he walks up beside you on Whiskey. ‘I’ve missed this so much.’

‘Me too,’ he answers, warm eyes on you.

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been here the whole time, cowboy.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Later. There will be time for all that later, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace.

You break the moment with an eyebrow arched in a challenge. ‘Race you to the stables?’

Jack grins. ‘You’re on, darlin’.’

Christmas dinner is in the main lodge, which you didn’t use during your trip in the summer. The intimate space is exuberantly decorated in red and gold, a huge, freshly cut pine tree stands proudly by the antique fireplace, a merry fire burning. The table is beautifully laid, silverware immaculately polished and fine china sit alongside holidays-themed napkins. A magnificent feast lines the length of the mahogany dining table comfortably seating eight.

But any kind of decorum stops there.

As the hours tick by and bottles of wine and sherry are emptied, the meal has descended into what Jack warned you in advance as ‘typical Kingsman chaos’. According to the cowboy, the whole Kingsman team comes to the ranch every summer for their annual company retreat, but only Merlin, Eggsy and Harry fly over for Christmas. And while their contingent is small, havoc is an inevitable conclusion where any number of the Kingsman are involved.

Desserts are still being passed around the table - sticky toffee pudding, pecan pie and Yule log - when Teak and Eggsy start to raise their voices and slap the table about British and American Christmas songs. They’re currently yelling - not singing - carols at each other, with Jameson barking excitedly in the background.

Tequila throws his hands up in frustration at Eggsy’s rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. ‘Why is there a partridge in a pear tree? What the fuck is a partridge?’

Champ and Merlin are having a more civilised but no less intense debate about pies - specifically mince pies versus pumpkin pie as a holiday dessert.

‘Next year, old chap,’ declares Merlin. ‘I’ll bring mince pies with me and you’ll be eating your words, just you wait.’

Jack whispers in your ear. ‘He says that every year, but never does.’

You chuckle and turn your attention to Harry, who’s now insisting that they should put Love Actually up on the big projector screen after dinner, whereas Ginger and Poppy are lobbying for Elf.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,' you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

Jack mumbles under his breath. ‘Because they’re idiots and pointless, festive arguing is a winter sport around here.’

His arm is warm around your shoulders as you giggle into your mulled wine. ‘Is it like this every year?’

‘Yup,’ he answers, really popping the P. With a mild touch of embarrassment, he holds your amused gaze and asks, ‘Too much?’

Tipping your face upwards, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

‘Just enough,’ you assure him as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the warmest smile.

You didn’t have time to drop off your suitcase at Jack’s cottage, which is a short drive from the ranch, when you arrived in the morning. Instead, with Champ’s blessing, you commandeered one of the guest cabins, all empty in the off-season - which is just as well. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s clear that no one is in any state to make their way back to their respective off-site houses.

Harry and the ladies retired to their borrowed rooms a little while ago, leaving you and Jack to round up the stragglers. You check on Teak, lying face down on the sofa, bundled up in his winter quilts in an aborted attempt to leave. A few steps over, you drape a blanket on Champ and another one on Merlin, who are passed out on armchairs which look comfortable enough to sleep in, socked feet up on matching ottomans. Eggsy is cuddling with Jameson in front of the fire, and Jack feeds the logs to make sure it burns till morning.

It’s bleak outside. Jack shields you from the worst of the winds, tucking you into his side as you trudge across the snow, the early start you’ve had catching up on you. Thankfully, the heating is already on in the cabin when you get there, and he starts a fire as well while you get ready for bed.

When you pad into the bedroom in your pyjamas, teeth brushed and makeup washed off, Jack looks up to see you holding a neatly-wrapped present, a shy smile on your lips.

Standing up from the fireplace, he dusts his hands and reaches for you, palms settling on the small of your back, leaning down to graze his still cold nose against yours. ‘Is that for me, darlin’?’

‘Maybe,’ you reply coyly. ‘Do you want to do presents now or tomorrow morning?’

‘Let’s do it now, I have to feed the horses early tomorrow,’ answers Jack, pecking you on the cheek. ‘Give me five minutes.’

The bed is cold, and you have to steel yourself to burrow into the icy cocoon of the thick covers, missing Jack’s warmth. He doesn’t make you wait long, re-appearing in just boxers, and a big box in hand, switching off all but the bedside lights.

Sliding under the duvet, he yelps when your icy feet tangle into his longer legs, making you laugh. His bare skin heats you up instantly as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his broad chest. You feel him hum when he asks, ‘You want to go first, darlin’?’

Blinking up at him, you answer nervously, ‘No - you first.’

He pushes the box your way and you sit up, pretending to shake the package to gauge what’s inside. Jack chuckles, his strong forearms dark against the beige quilt wrapped around his middle. Only his fingers give away his nerves, picking at loose threads in the fabric as you carefully unravel the wrapping paper.

Lifting the lid of the box, your lips part and you stare wordlessly at what’s inside.

‘Jack,’ you breathe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Gently, you pull out the cowboy hat in tan suede, the smell of fresh leather comforting as you turn it over in your grasp, marvelling at the craftsmanship in the dips and swells of the construction.

‘Try it on, darlin’,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing in relief at your reaction.

You do, and of course, it fits perfectly. Shuffling onto your knees, you crawl closer to kiss him fully on the lips, tilting your head to the side so that his face fits under the brim of your hat. ‘Thank you, I love it.’

Jack arches an eyebrow. ‘You might want to check the box again, darlin’.’

Sitting back on your haunches, you send him an almost accusatory look. ‘You can’t give me two presents, cowboy.’

He shrugs with an insolent grin. ‘I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I like. ‘

Your eyes alight on the black velvet case at the bottom of the box, and you draw it out with careful fingers as if it will break. With one last glance at Jack, you gingerly lift the lid, feeling the hinges creak.

Jack watches you closely, his own breathing suspended as you stare down into your hands, thoughts whirring in his head. Is it too much, too soon? Is he comin’ on too strong? Would you even like it?

After the longest ten seconds of his life, you look up at him with soft eyes and brows drawn, a crack in your voice. ‘Jack.’

He gives you a lopsided smile and reaches for the box. ‘I went back to the same silversmith who made my belt buckle and asked him to make this.’

The chain is delicate in his big, weathered hands. It takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually manages to pry open the hinge of the clasp and holds out the necklace towards you in a question. ‘May I, darlin’?’

Turning around, the bed dips behind you as Jack shifts closer, cool silver kissing your décolletage as he fastens the clasp behind your neck. Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

His words draw you out of your thoughts. ‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ you correct him, twisting around to tackle him into the mattress, your knees around his waist as you loom over him, knocking off your hat so you can kiss him properly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

The pendant dangles from your neck, tickling him on the chin as he winds one big hand into your hair, his eyes following as it sways. ‘It looks good on you, darlin’.’

The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest starts to recede as your eyes land on the present you got for him on the bed. The giddiness you felt when you found it is a distant dream, instead, anxiety threatens to take root deep in your head. If you got something from Amazon tonight, is there any chance that they could deliver tomorrow -

‘Darlin’. You’re thinking too loudly,’ says Jack soothingly, chucking you gently under your chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

You shake your head. ‘I got you a really stupid present. Let’s forget about it - I’ll get you something else.’

His brows draw together in concern as he grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against his chest so that there’s nowhere else to look but at him. ‘Don’t say that, there’s no such thing as a stupid present. Whatever you got me, I’m sure I’ll love it.’

You inhale deeply, chewing your bottom lip. ‘You mentioned a few weeks ago that your leather jacket and fleeces are too bulky and it’s hard to move around in all the layers when it's cold.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘That I did.’

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach out and drag the package towards him. ‘Well, I saw this at my local shop, and thought it might help.’

Jack gives you a reassuring smile and leans back into the pillows, grabbing the present excitedly. He pulls you against his side, as if he’s trying to squeeze all the self-doubt out of you, the gift draped across your laps as he starts to unwrap it.

You’re a bundle of jitters when he rips off the wrapping paper with impatient fingers, and the lightweight and puffy blue fabric comes into view.

Jack shakes out the neatly folded one-piece. ‘Is it - a ski suit?’

You nod and point out the black contrasting detailing on the front of the suit. ‘It's light and it's warm. Look at the western design with the single point pockets - I couldn’t not get it for you.’

Jack chuckles, the sound warming you as his arm tightens around your shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So simple, yet so clever.’

‘You like it?’ you ask in the smallest voice.

‘I love it,’ he grins, drawing you in for another kiss. ‘Thank you, darlin’.’

Finally assuaged, you sag against him, a yawn creeping up on you as the tension in your body recedes. ‘You want to try it on now?’

Tucking you in, he says, ‘I’ll try it tomorrow, it’s been a long day for you, darlin’.

Putting your hat and his ski suit on the bedside table, Jack turns off the light, his body immediately seeking out yours under the sheets, claiming every inch of you with a leg between your thighs, front plastered to your back, palms under your ratty pyjamas top, splayed across your naked skin.

It’s been too long.

Nose tucked behind your ear, his arms full of you - finally here after months of feeling your phantom weight in his embrace - the night slips away as the snow falls outside.

It’s too warm under the covers when you wake up, even though Jack’s side of the bed is empty. You stretch lazily, the clock reads 8am but the fire is still going strong, he must have stoked it when he got up.

You decide to make some coffee and wait for him to come back before venturing to the communal kitchen for breakfast. While the water boils, you smile as you fiddle with the necklace sitting on your chest, warm and reassuring against your skin.

The smell of caffeine fills the cabin as you sip from your mug, and before long, you hear Jack stomping up the stairs, humming a country tune in his raspy baritone as he approaches the door.

Pouring him a steaming cup, you say, ‘Hey, I made you some coffee -’

You trail off when you turn around.

Your morning brain can’t quite grasp the picture in front of you. Jack’s still wearing his cowboy hat, his nose red from the cold. Vaguely, you realise he’s wearing the present you gifted him - and you congratulate yourself on the fact that it fits him like a damn glove.

The ski suit accentuates his broad shoulders and tapers in at his waist in a flattering cut, the zipper drawn all the way up to the hollow of his throat. He’s replaced the detachable belt that came with the ski suit with his own, the flask bottle buckle popping against the blue.

But the bottom half - that you have trouble comprehending. It takes you a beat longer to realise why.

He’s wearing full-length cowboy chaps over it.

Chaps are essentially leather trousers with the seat cut out, and Jack's wearing them with his belt looped through the straps. You know he only uses them when it’s muddy, to keep his jeans clean. He didn’t wear them at all on your pack trip, but you’ve seen a peek on Facetime in the rainy months in between. And now that you're seeing them in person, you decide that like them - a lot.

Your gaze, slow as molasses despite being completely unburdened by shame, slides all the way down to the triangle of blue framed by the negative space in the brown chaps where - for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

Jesus H. Christ. It’s too fucking early to be sinning.

When Jack realises that you’re staring, he says somewhat apologetically, clearly oblivious to the merry tangent your mind has gone off on. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not meant to wear it this way, but I didn’t want to get it dirty -’

You shake your head hastily. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s - perfect.’

Something breathless in your tone catches his ear, and he tilts his head to the side, one large hand coming to rest on his hip, thick fingers spread obnoxiously wide over the side of the chaps. The beginning of a cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, darlin’? You like it?’

Leaving your mug on the counter top, you bite your lip and give him your best teasing grin. ‘Why don’t you turn around so I can take a better look, cowboy?’

He arches an eyebrow at your boldness, but decides to indulge you. Voice dropping an octave, he rasps, ‘Better take a seat for this, darlin’.’

You grin and do as you’re told, turning the kitchen chair around so that you’re facing him, running your eyes up and down his frame as he steps into your space, narrow hips swaying to a beat you can’t hear. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he suddenly turns with a dramatic flourish and arches his back, granting you an unrivalled view of his behind framed by the chaps cut off at the top of his thighs, the ski suit tight against his pert bottom.

‘Enjoy the view, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning over his shoulder at you.

You swat him on one cheek playfully, and when he swoops suddenly into your lap in a classic burlesque move, you squeal, ‘Jack!’

Bending his knees, he grinds into your thighs as you laugh, the ski suit soft on your skin while the leather chaps scrape against your bare shins. Turning around, he reaches up to tug the suit’s zipper downwards in a slow, deliberate course, and he purrs, ‘What say you if ol’ cowboy Jack gives you a proper show, hmm?’

You inhale sharply as the white wife beater underneath comes into view, and you reach up to help him push one side of the ski suit off his shoulder, revealing the firm line of his left arm.

‘Thought that was more of Teak’s thing,’ you quip, licking your lips as your eyes skim down his front to settle on the weighty bulge now straining against the front of the suit, your eager fingers pulling him closer by his belt buckle.

Gripping the edge of the table, he traps you into your seat, his stare dropping to the matching pendant resting on your now heaving bosom, taking in your blown pupils as he grins. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

‘Aren’t I the luckiest girl,’ you muse, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the table, his hungry stare alone pinning you in place when you drag him down to you by his lapels.

Warm lips part yours and he delves into your mouth, kissing you deeply. The promise of more leaves you chasing him as he draws back with a drawl. ‘You’re about to get a whole lot luckier, darlin’.’

The thick material of the ski suit is almost pillowy as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. It rubs gently on your nipples as you rock against Jack, arms wound around his neck while his desperate hands cup and knead the plump swell of your ass, dragging you up and down his hard cock.

‘That’s it, you’re ridin' me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

His chaps are slippery under your bare thighs from your slick, and you clench at the sensation of being completely naked on top of him when he’s still fully clothed, only his belt and zipper undone so that he can fuck up into you, the rickety kitchen chair groaning under the weight of the two of you.

‘Missed you too,’ you whisper against his lips, crying out when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. ‘Yes, yes, harder, Jack.’

Leaning forward, he takes one breast into his hot mouth, one eye on your necklace that’s sticking to your sweaty skin before licking you between your tits and over the silver pendant, the salt sharp on his tongue. He hums, ‘You wear it so well.’

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear, throwing your head back when he scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, so full of him that your knees quake.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

Notes: Am I allowed to pick favourites? I'm not? I'm doing it anyway -- this is my favourite out of all the holiday fics, no question! I'm so soft for cowboy Jack and his darlin' 🥹 We've been spending time with just the two of them so far in the series, so it was really fun to explore the group situations, especially with the Kingsman involved!

You’re just finishing getting ready for your date with your new boyfriend when you hear three soft knocks at your door. 

You smile reflexively. It's only been a few months, but you have a good feeling about this one. 

You open the door and let out a soft exclamation when you see the little container of chocolate-covered strawberries in your boyfriend's hand.

“What’s the occasion?”

Marcus Pike leans forward to kiss your cheekbone in greeting. “Do I need an occasion to dote on you?”

You laugh. “Most people do,” you say, taking the little package and stepping back, inviting Marcus into your apartment. He follows you into the kitchen, where you set the strawberries down on the counter. When you turn, he’s right there–crowding into your space and kissing you properly this time.

“I’m not most people,” he murmurs, before capturing your lips with his own.

“No,” you agree with a laugh. “No, you most certainly are not.”

Marcus pulls back with a playful pout on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the sweetest, most caring guy I’ve ever met,” you say honestly. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Marcus asks. You can tell he’s half-joking, half-not. His past relationships have left their fair share of scars, causing him to occasionally second-guess himself. You’re always right there to pull him back from the edge, though. After all–everyone has scars.

“Of course it isn’t,” you say earnestly, pulling Marcus back toward you for another soft kiss. 

“No?” Marcus is smiling, this time–the word uttered playfully against your lips as though he knows exactly what that dark, teasing tone of voice does to you. 

“Well,” you say, pretending to think about it. “Come to think of it, you could be a little… less sweet, in some departments.”

Marcus laughs. “Like what?” 

“Rougher,” you clarify breathlessly. “H-harder.”

“Oh–oh,” Marcus rasps, his tone deepening as he catches your meaning. “Is that right?”

It is. Marcus is an attentive lover; a thorough lover. He’s never satisfied until you’ve cum at least twice every session. It’s still early days in your relationship, but he seems to know exactly what buttons to push, and in what order, to keep you in a constant state of arousal for him. He’s passionate, tender, loving…

But part of you wants to feel the sting of his teeth, the bruising grip that you know those large hands are capable of. Marcus handles you as if you’re made of glass, but part of you wonders what would happen if he lets you crack, just a little. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him automatically. You think that this man–with his puppy-dog eyes and his goofy jokes and his propensity for old, romantic movies–might not have any rough edges to him. You don’t want him to think that you don’t love him exactly the way he is, softness and all.

“What’s okay?” Marcus asks, looking confused.

“It’s okay if you don’t like that,” you say. “If you aren’t comfortable being rough with me.”

Marcus’s eyes are soft and patient when he looks at you, and you know what you’re saying must be true.

“Is that what you want?” he asks quietly, without any hint of judgment in his tone.

“Y-yes. No? I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you. In every way.”

Marcus melts further under your admission, but all he does is give you a soft kiss on the forehead. “Let’s get going, pretty girl.” 

Dinner is wonderful, as usual. Marcus never fails to be an incredibly fun date–always there with a funny story, always listening intently to everything you say, and always sitting close enough to touch you but never making you feel crowded. His fingers gently skim across your own as he talks, the casual touch making your brain spark pleasantly. 

Yeah, Marcus might be the sweetest, softest guy in the world.

You can’t say that you mind it. 

One after-dinner drink turns into two, then three. You’re pleasantly tipsy as the two of you finally get up from the intimate booth to leave. Marcus’s hand is on the small of your back, his breath disturbing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Let’s go back to mine.”

You giggle and press back against him, feeling the already-stiffening length in Marcus’s pants. You hear him swallow a strained sound behind you.

The both of you are still giggling and breathless when Marcus finally unlocks his door just ten minutes later. You barely make it inside before he’s there–pressing you up against the wall and letting his lips trace a path up and down the side of your neck. The soft touch of his mouth always brings goosebumps to the surface and tingles down your spine. You’re sighing happily at Marcus’s tender affections, when suddenly, he bites down and sucks a deep mark into your skin.

Over your choked gasp, you hear him talk.

“Been thinking about what you said,” Marcus rasps. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about it all night.” His hands grasp your hips as he presses forward even further, seeking friction on his cock and causing your back to slide against the hallway. “Baby, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“Tell-ah!–tell me,” you whimper, urged on by the surprising roughness in Marcus’s actions.

“Wanna tie you up,” Marcus murmurs against your neck. “Blindfold you. Wanna hear you beg for me.”

You think you’d fall down where you were if Marcus wasn’t effectively pinning you in place against his wall. “Marcus–”

“You think I don’t wanna be rough with you?” Marcus rasps in your ear. “Baby, you don’t know how much I’ve been holding back. How much I want to give you.”

“Okay,” you exhale.

Marcus pulls back. “Okay?” he repeats.

“Show me. Show me all of it.”

Marcus lets out a strange, pleasure-soaked sound that you’ve never heard from him before. He’s usually vocal in bed, seeming to know that his voice is one hell of an asset, but he’s always very self-controlled, very purposeful with it. Now, you finally get it. You understand–Marcus Pike has been holding out on you. 

You think you know why. You’d told him that you hadn’t had the best experience in the past with sex–relatively late to lose your virginity, never quite understanding what was so great about it (and oh, Marcus has been methodically proving you wrong orgasm by thigh-shaking orgasm). He’s probably been afraid of scaring you off, or worse, hurting you in some way. 

Marcus wastes no time in pulling you to his bedroom. His moves are the same: gently laying you down on the bed, covering your body with his and overwhelming your every sense with him. His hands slide up your shirt, his body presses against yours, his lips take and take and take until you feel like you can’t breathe.

Your clothes are shed gradually, Marcus removing every layer reverently and taking his time with each. You've yet to have a 'quickie' with this man–you wonder if he's even capable of it, typically not satisfied until he's tasted every inch of your skin and both of you are completely and utterly sated. 

You smile up at him as he removes his shirt, taking in the gentle musculature of his chest and the slight swell of his belly. He's a gorgeous man–in shape without being overly obnoxious about it, naturally broad-shouldered, with a light smattering of hair that you found exactly one silver strand in the other day. 

“How do you feel about being tied up?” Marcus whispers softly in your ear.

You don’t have to think about it. “Yes,” you answer automatically. “With your handcuffs?”

“Nah,” Marcus says, chuckling. “Those aren’t meant to be comfortable. You’ll end up with red marks all over your wrists.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Marcus’s eyes are sparkling with mirth as he climbs off of you for a moment, digging in his drawer for a moment before pulling out… is that rope?

Your eyes must be as wide as dinner plates as Marcus returns, placing it in your hands, letting you touch it. 

“It’s so soft,” you say, surprised. 

Marcus chuckles at your exclamation. “It is,” he agrees. “Won’t hurt that pretty skin.” He covers your hands in his, trapping the length rope between you and bringing your inner wrist to his mouth to kiss gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I like it,” you breathe. 

“Good.”

You lie back down on the bed and raise your arms above your head, looking up at him expectantly. 

“Hang on,” Marcus says with an affectionate smile. “We’ve gotta have the safeword discussion.”

“I trust you,” you say automatically. 

Marcus shushes you gently. “I’m glad, but we still need to talk about it,” he says. “Listen, I will always stop if you say anything like ‘no’ or ‘stop,’ unless we’ve talked about it beforehand, but I want you to think about how you’re feeling like you would a stoplight, okay? So if you’re green, everything’s great, yellow means to slow down because you’re getting close to your limit or feeling uncomfortable in any way, and red means stop everything immediately. Make sense?”

You think you may have underestimated Marcus Pike.

“Makes sense,” you agree. 

Marcus gently grasps your wrists where they’re still raised above your head. “So, if I ask for your color, you say–”

“Green,” you answer with a gleeful smile. “Definitely green.” 

“Good,” Marcus whispers. “Oh, fuck, I’ve wanted to do this, baby,” he admits as he winds the soft, silken rope around your wrists in a series of delicate loops and knots that manages to be both comfortable and snug. Your arms are perfectly immobilized as he secures them to the headboard.

Even though your heart is pounding in your chest, you feel safer than ever in Marcus’s bed. The man is looking down at you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and there’s a resulting ache in your chest at the look in his eyes. It’s hungry, sure, but you can see those three little words–the ones that neither of you have said yet–swimming just below the surface. 

Marcus’s hands explore you, having open access to you without any hope of intervention. He rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, teases your nipples until they’re both rigid peaks, digs his fingertips into your ribs just to see you try and squirm away from him. No skin is left untouched, and suddenly, you get it. Why Marcus would like this. It hadn’t made sense at first–Marcus Pike, and BDSM? Blindfolds and handcuffs? You wouldn’t think that someone so incredibly gentle would have silk bondage rope in his bottom drawer, but you think you understand as you watch Marcus’s eyes roam over your body with undisguised lust. 

It’s no secret that Marcus Pike is a possessive man. Not in a creepy or demeaning way, but in the way that you know he wants the two of you to belong to each other. You know that’s why he’s such a tactile person, always there with a hand on the small of your back or threading your fingers together as you walk. Restrained on his bed like this, you feel more like you belong to him than you ever have. His. 

“Color?” Marcus asks, as his fingers skate down the skin of your belly, traveling south with a purpose. 

“Still green,” you whisper with a serene smile.

“Good girl.”

Marcus teases your clit with delicate touches until you’re panting on the bed. When you start to squirm, he chastises, “Stop moving, or I’m gonna have to tie your ankles, too.”

You clench around nothing at his words. “Yeah,” you say breathlessly. “Yeah, do that.”

“Shh, one thing at a time, baby.”

“Marcus,” you whine.

“We’ve got time,” he whispers. “Oh, we’ve got time. And I plan–” he brings his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of your juices– “to savor it.”

You whimper again and buck against the bed. 

Marcus chuckles. “You really want more?”

You nod rapidly. “Please.”

Marcus lips are parted, his eyes half lidded as he watches you squirm and plead for him. “You perfect fucking thing,” he mutters. The words are barely audible, and you aren’t sure if he’d actually meant to speak them out loud, or if he’d been talking to himself. Either way, he gives you a soft smile and gets up again, going to his closet this time. 

“I’m not tying your ankles to the bed, not this time,” he announces, pulling out whatever it was he had been looking for. You crane your neck to try and see what it is. “But I think you might like this, hmm?” 

He holds up the object in his hand, and you realize it’s one of his ties. You watch as he kneels back on the bed at your side. “Lift your head,” he directs, and you do, allowing him to slip the fabric around you as a blindfold. 

“Look at you,” Marcus murmurs. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” you answer immediately.

“Then hang on a second. Want to go grab something real quick. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, and feel the mattress shift as Marcus leaves. You can hear him in the apartment, shuffling around, opening something in the kitchen, and coming back. You furrow your brow under the makeshift blindfold. What is he up to?

The mattress dips again, and you let out a soft sound of surprise when something cool and sweet drags against your lips. It… it feels like…

“Wait–do you have chocolate strawberries at your place, too?”

Marcus laughs sheepishly above you. “When I bought yours, I thought they looked really good, so I bought two,” he admits. “Now I’m really glad that I did.”

You laugh too. Adorable man. Your amusement fades when the coolness of the fruit touches the tip of your nipple, making you squeak in surprise. The cold is quickly replaced by the heat of Marcus’s mouth as he engulfs your breast, licking the sweet residue off of you with a little moan of satisfaction. 

“Bite.” The strawberry is at your lips again, and you obey, humming at the contrast of the chocolate and the fruit. 

Wet coldness bursts around your other nipple as Marcus moves the strawberry again, quickly followed by his mouth as he swirls his tongue around the stiff peak. 

“Good girl, fuck, so good for me,” Marcus murmurs. “Can’t decide which is sweeter.” 

You know he ate the rest of the strawberry, because his tongue, when he crawls between your legs and laps at your clit, is still unnaturally cool. You whimper and moan as the temperature climbs along with your rising orgasm, until you’re all-but-grinding on his face and Marcus is eating you out with his typical ravenous enthusiasm. 

The thin thread holding your pieces together snaps, and you keen loudly as you cum on Marcus’s tongue. In turn, Marcus groans loudly and pulls you against his face harder, lapping up everything you give him until you’re shaking with overstimulation. 

“Okay, it’s definitely you,” Marcus murmurs. “See?”

The bed dips as Marcus climbs up your body and kisses you deeply, swirling his tongue inside you much in the same manner he had been just moments ago somewhere else. The taste of your own desire bursts on your tongue, and you moan into his mouth. 

Marcus pulls away and presses another strawberry against your lips. “Which is better?” he husks in your ear as you dutifully eat the fruit. 

“The strawberry.” Your mouth wavers as you fight not to laugh–you know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

“Wrong,” Marcus growls playfully, taking your lips again. “Next time, I’m going to have to punish you.”

Something like adrenaline and desire swoops through your belly at his words. "L-like what?"

"I'll have to think about it," Marcus teased. "Maybe I won't let you cum until you're crying for me," he suggests. "Or maybe we'll see how much this pretty ass shakes when I spank it."

"Marcus," you whisper. "Holy shit, Marcus, you're filthy."

"I think you like it," he shoots back with a smile in his voice. 

"I never knew."

The blindfold suddenly moves up and away from your eyes, and you blink in the unexpected brightness. 

"Didn't wanna scare you off," Marcus confesses, looking down at you. "Not everyone… well, not everyone likes this." His eyes are far away for a moment, reliving a past unpleasant memory. 

"I like this," you say quietly, giving Marcus a smile. 

His stormy expression melts in an instant, his teeth showing as he rakes his eyes up and down your restrained body. 

"Yeah," Marcus agrees, looking down at your pussy, which is still glistening with slick for him. "Yeah, I'd say you do."

You give Marcus a saucy look. "So do it some more," you command.

Maria knew you preferred it here in the greenhouses, being friendly with her certainly had its perks, too. Your gate patrols had become minimal, the shotgun almost felt foreign in your hands now when you had to head up atop the walls and survey the wilderness for threats from infected and hunters alike. 

It was another early morning, an eerie gray seeping through your thin curtains and rain dripping down the windows ahead of your fieldwork, a heady sigh leaving your lips as you slipped the rubber boots that were two sizes too big onto your feet. But even on days like today, you didn’t mind the work. Sure, the soil would be heavier soaked and your clothes would be clinging to your skin within the hour, but it sure as hell beat fighting for your life outside these walls.

It had been a miracle you’d stumbled across a patrol team a few months back, scared and alone. The vetting was brutal and the townsfolk were wary of the newcomer for weeks after your arrival. But you’d earned their trust through your hard work and willingness to do what was needed. You were a damn fine cook, too, and that went a long way.

By the time noon hit, the rain hadn’t slowed at all. You were shivering despite the exertion, the warmth of the pub calling your name even if it would only be for the hour allotted for your lunch. The cover of the plastic enclosures had done little to keep you dry with how many times you’d gone in and out, the humidity the plants needed keeping you thoroughly damp and chilled. You were finishing your final task, your hands quivering too much for the precision you needed, 

“You look cold,” a Texas drawl chuckled from behind you, “Why are you out in the rain anyway? Can’t this wait?”

“You tell me, boss,” you replied with a grin, your gaze shooting back over your shoulder to see Tommy Miller, his faithful companion Buckley at his side.

“It can wait til it’s dry. Come on.”

The Millers–Tommy and Maria–were good friends, but Tommy’s brother Joel, while revered in the town, was someone you hadn’t had much contact with, not anything of merit anyway. That was an avoidance of your own creation, your thoughts dizzying into idiocy when you were in his presence for more than a few minutes. It was shameful. But it was thankfully easy to maintain. He mostly kept to himself in his big house by the cemetery, his job solely a patrolman thanks to his exceptional skills with just about every weapon under the sun and his proficiency at what some of the town referred to as “extermination.” Joel could kill anything and not bat an eye, and everyone knew it, too. 

“Dinner at our place tonight,” Tommy offered after walking you past the pub and to your front door, “Maria is cooking, but if you wanted to maybe come a little early and make those sweet potatoes, you won’t find a soul complainin’ and I got a basket full.”

“Well, you did get me out of the rain,” you answered, waving goodbye as your body ached for a warm shower and dry clothes.

By three o’clock you were knocking on Tommy’s door and none other than Joel greeted you as it swung open after a single knock, a mug of coffee being swallowed whole by his hand.

“Joel…” you gasped, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of you.

“Tommy said you were comin’,” he muttered, you couldn’t tell if it was just to himself, your stomach flipping just like it had every other time you’d been this close to him.

Joel was tall and broad, his thick gray hair almost brushing his brow and an equally lush and silvered beard covering his jaw and cheeks. Heat flushed your face beneath his gaze–typical–the reason for your stark evasion of the man coming to full fruition here and now. He’d caught your eye long before you knew who he was, not that you’d ever even considered acting on this ridiculous little crush. You were too old for this anyway, and Joel, well, he’d never once acted like he wanted to be bothered by anyone’s attention much less your own. There’d been many shared functions and yet you’d still never graduated past pleasantries, your quick escape plans always being enacted before you could reach the next stage of conversation.

“Are you gonna let her in or leave her to soak?!” you heard Tommy yelling from somewhere in the house, Joel’s obvious alarm from being shaken from whatever mental space he’d gone to playing out too charmingly on his face for you to deny giggling at.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor as he stepped aside, the sack of spices and honey you’d brought to prep your dish jostling in your arms, “I’ll–let me,” he offered, the way his fingers brushed against the back of your hand had goosebumps erupting across your skin making you thankful for the cover of your sweater.

“Thanks,” you gasped, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic to his ears as it did to your own.

Long strides had him well ahead of you on your way to the kitchen and you took full advantage to shake off the effects of Joel Miller’s studious gaze before joining the group, you didn’t need anyone getting any ideas.

“Welcome!” Tommy greeted almost too exuberantly, “Joel here said he’ll help you with whatever you need to get started.”

“What?” Joel interjected quietly to himself between Tommy’s words, his hands falling to his hips showcasing toned forearms straining against the rolled sleeves of his flannel.

“Anything at all.”

Clearly, something else was at play. With Tommy and Maria barely able to contain their fits of giggles, Joel’s brow knit in confusion, and you standing dumbfounded with Buckley sitting dutifully at your side it looked like something straight out of the sitcoms that had died decades ago. And somehow it felt like you were the butt of the joke.

“Why are you staring like that?” Maria pressed, “You said you wanted to get better at cooking, You’re reading those books. Time to put it into practice.”

“It’s fine,” you finally found the courage to speak, “I can do it.”

“What do you need help with?” Joel resigned with a sigh, turning to the sink to scrub his hands clean. That was a good start.

“No, you don’t have to–”

“Peel these,” Maria instructed, pushing the bowl of sweet potatoes she’d gotten out his way, “Let’s see if you’re as good with a knife on root vegetables as you are Clickers. Hmm?”

“Well, ain’t you funny this evening,” Joel grumbled, snatching the knife to his left and beginning work on his task. 

You almost felt bad for him, watching him struggle to catch only the skin and not the orange flesh beneath it, his tongue clicking in disappointment at himself with every swipe too deep and dropped peel. It was so endearing, Buckley’s little whines matching the way pity had set a breeze on the butterflies that had taken flight in your belly

“Stop laughing at me,” Joel finally snapped after Maria and Tommy’s little snickers had gone on for too long, the knife slamming onto the counter in frustration.

“Let me help you,” you offered, rushing over and plucking the tool from beneath his palm and showing him your technique, his eyes attentive as he watched and listened.

When dinner was served, you took the seat beside him, your appetite whisked away from hours of nervous fidgeting and stolen glances. What you did manage to force down was delicious, but you were more concerned about the reception of your dish from one guest at the table than you were about judging what was on your own plate.

“So,” Maria began after everyone’s forks had started to slow, “I saw you and Gabe hitting it off at work the other day.” What on Earth was she doing? “He’s nice. Good head on his shoulders, competent, great carpenter.”

“Oh,” you stammered, a nervous laugh flitting free, “No, I…I just work with him.”

“I need to get goin’,” Joel announced suddenly, his chair loudly scraping against the floor as he cleared his plate in the kitchen, Buckley getting a pat on the head before he bid everyone a gracious thank you and goodbye for the evening, your nerves settling immediately as soon as the door clicked closed.

After a night of tossing and turning at the replay of the embarrassment of your interactions from the evening, you were back in the greenhouses in much more suitable weather the following day, Maria and Buckley on site to help with the harvesting from half the crops. Gabe had been assigned your partner, something you assumed was no accident after Maria’s prying last night, her quest to get you saddled in with a “nice guy” in full swing.

“Long day, huh?” Gabe chirped from beside you, chest heaving after another heavy load of produce was dropped into the back of the truck, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, keeping your eyes straight ahead on your task, “busy.”

“Lunch!” Maria bellowed, “Let’s go, everyone! No exceptions!”

There went your hopes of skipping the congregated, shared hour in favor of hiding behind the greenhouses for a moment of reprieve. Gabe walked you to the grouping of tables, the citizens of Jackson having banded together to give the farming group a grateful lunch for their labors, a sentiment you should have appreciated but found yourself loathing at the moment. You were too tired, too agitated, and entirely too distracted.

“Joel…” Maria sang knowingly as if she’d been expecting him despite his presence never once having graced the workspace before, “What a surprise.”

“Tommy around? He ran off soon as we passed the gate,” he grunted fresh off patrol, his t-shirt screaming around his biceps ready to tear and his pack equipped with more weapons than you’d ever seen on one person strapped to his back; you couldn’t look away, “Who’s this?” 

“Him? Oh, that’s Gabe.”

Why was his face falling? Were you imagining things? His eyes flicked from you back to the man beside you, a hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head as he repeated the inspection once again.

“That so?” he drawled, “Never heard of ya.”

Well, that was a lie, and the way Gabe’s face fell that the famed Joel Miller didn’t know he existed, despite the fact that he most certainly did, only seemed to add a little glimmer to Joel’s eye as he watched him scamper off dejected. It was a little cruel, but at the moment you couldn’t care less as you tried to decipher what the hell situation you were standing in the middle of.

“Wait a minute… Are you jealous?” Maria asked tauntingly, your face falling in horror at the blatant accusation made on what you knew was your behalf.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel barked, and you had to hand it to Maria for never being intimidated because if you were on the receiving end of the expression currently staring her in the face you’d have cowered into the nearest corner like a mouse being pursued by a cat.

“It’s a simple question.” “I’m only here for the dog.”

Buckley yapped right on cue as Joel bent over to scratch his ear, Maria’s eyes rolling at one of the most pitiful excuses she’d ever heard in her life, especially from a grown  man. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she groaned.

"You need some sleep, Maria. You're gettin' delusional," he nagged as he stood, following after her as she stormed off towards the tables.

Maria’s question plagued you throughout the week. You hadn’t seen Joel again, but that didn’t stop your brain from spiraling with the hope that maybe she was right. Replaying the brief interactions you’d had with him led you nowhere, the man was entirely illegible, his face a stoic…handsome…mask and his random appearances too few to interpret but also too coincidental to be a coincidence. 

During another dinner alone on the old futon you’d scavenged, a soft knock on your door had you ready to duck under your table and hide until whoever it was left. It had to be Gabe, maybe Maria, but your frayed nerves had already had their fill of human interaction for the week, you wanted two days holed up in your little cabin with your books. Was that too much to ask?

“You home?” a gruff, deep voice called out, a timbre that did not belong to Gabe or Maria. 

Joel. That had you racing to the point you were tripping over your feet, catching him just as he’d begun to descend the three steps leading up to your front door.

“Joel!” you called out too loud, his demeanor unaffected by your outburst.

“Hi,” he greeted cautiously, “Maria told me your backdoor was broken, wanted me to come look at it.”

Your backdoor was not broken. Never had been. However, if you told him that he would leave, but he should leave because he didn’t need to be here…

“It ain’t broken, is it?” he resigned, the answer clearly written on your face.

“No,” you sighed, disappointment carving a hole out of your chest and hollowing it fast enough to have your lungs depleting.

“Well, if it’s all right with you I’ll check anyway. Can’t ever be too careful.”

The thorough inspection he gave your old wooden door surprised you knowing he’d discovered the ruse before stepping foot inside your house, and he did indeed find a few screws that needed tightening. You offered him a coffee that he gratefully accepted, the last of the grounds you’d traded for last month enough for two cups you sat around the small round table in your kitchen to enjoy as the crickets began to chirp outside the windows.

“Thank you,” you erupted, your voice too loud, too excited, his little chuckle confirming he could sense your school girl nervousness.

“Welcome,” that smooth, Texas twang settled in your stomach, pressing downward in the most forbidden of ways, “You know if you need a carpenter–”

“Oh no. I don’t.”

“Right. Okay.”

Wait, that was rude. He was about to offer help and you’d cut him off. His eyes hadn’t left the brown, murky depths swimming in the pink mug you’d given him, his shoulders slumped, chin to his chest.

“If I do though, I’ll let Maria know to tell you–”

“You can just…knock on my door. If I ain’t out on patrol, I’m home.”

“Oh. Sure.”

It felt like your entire body was vibrating, sweat was beading on your brow and it wasn’t a result of the hot coffee you were drinking. He seemed just as tense, you could see his knee bouncing beneath the table and you were desperate to know if it was nerves or simply his way of tolerating the less-than-ideal situation he’d found himself in. But that required a courage you didn’t think you’d ever be able to muster.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he announced after a moment of silence that had dragged on too long, “Let me know if that door needs tweakin’ again.”

Every nerve in your body lit up with the desire to keep him there, your hand involuntarily shooting out and gripping around his wrist as you leapt to your feet less than a second after he rose, fingers barely meeting around the sheer girth of it. Your stomach dropped to the floor when his head whipped around and his stony stare locked on wear your skin met, his lips slightly agape and brow furrowed. You were panting, not caring how it looked or whatever he was assuming, he was probably right. It was time to admit that.

“Are you hungry?” you asked meekly, listing the ingredients you knew you had off in your head to try and come up with a dish you could prepare, forgetting that your half-eaten dinner still sat on the small table beside the sofa.

“I could eat,” he replied barely above a whisper, his eyes shooting over to that very spot. You should have anticipated that level of perception.

“I’ll make you something.”

“If it’s too much trouble–”

“No!”

Now this was getting embarrassing. Your voice was quivering, breath ragged, your brain reminding you it had been more years than you’d like to admit since you’d had a man in any capacity, and it wasn’t like that was beyond a quick release of tension. 

“Calm down, darlin’,” he comforted warily, the pet name hitting you square in the chest, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya…”

That was where his mind had gone? This situation was worse than one you could have ever doomed yourself to in your mind. He thought you were afraid of him? Well, in a way you were, but not the way he was assuming. Your tongue was paralyzed as your brain screamed to fix the situation, your fingers unknowingly tightening around his wrist.

“I know that,” you quaked, “I didn’t think…you would.”

“Okay. Good,” he sighed, tapping your white-knuckling hand with his free pointer finger, “That’s startin’ to hurt, ya know.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry!”

Balling your fists at your chest, you retreated backward until you hit the kitchen counter, completely overwhelmed and embarrassed, wondering how in the hell you dug yourself out of this hole or if you’d be needing to find another settlement to move to. You couldn’t look him, Maria, or Tommy in the eye after this. You could just go on patrol and never come back, not like anyone would come looking for you when they found out what a fool you’d made of yourself. 

“Is Maria right?” he asked softly, his tone gentle and relaxed, “I can’t read this shit.”

“What?” you choked, his eyes taking on a warm glow you’d never seen on him before, it made him look younger and somehow even more endearing.

Nonchalantly, almost annoyed, he waved his hand between the two of you, your eyes widening in shock at his question before his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps stealing your attention so brazenly it had a wheezing laugh breaking free from a bright smile.

“That a yes?” he chuckled, eyeing you through his lashes mischievously.

“Um…” you stammered, did he really just think you were going to admit it so openly?

“S’okay if it is.”

The nod you gave him was barely discernible, but he understood, the corner of his mouth stretching up toward his eye as he took a step forward, then another, and then another until his arms were caging you in as they braced on the counter behind you, the smell of pine wood and leather hitting your senses like a tsunami.

“Joel…” 

“Hmm?”

“It’s been a really long time…”

“Yeah. Me too.”

His lips were softer than you expected them to be, plush and silky as they pressed to yours nervously, his beard prickling your skin a sensation you hadn’t felt in too damn long. When he pulled away you sought him out again, following his mouth as your fingers fisted into his shirt, your cue being followed as he came back harder, more intentionally, his nose pressing to your cheek when you pulled him in deeper, a muffled whine hitting him and eliciting one of his own.

“I um–” you began when you broke for air.

“Shh,” he soothed, feeling your fingers tightening in his shirt nervously again, “You don’t need to talk. I can stop, or I can keep goin’. Your call.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When his tongue slid along the seam of your mouth you relaxed, one of your hands releasing his shirt to slide up into his hair, his groan of approval hitting the back of your throat as you opened up to him completely. You barely needed time to learn one another, your mouths finding a fluid rhythm of give and take quickly. His hands felt so good settled easily on your hips, the lack of desperation in his grip a testament to his self-control, something you were clearly lacking as you pulled yourself in closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to sting. If it did he either didn’t mind or purely enjoyed it, not even a flinch settling across his features as he devoured you. 

He stopped you when your hands shot to his belt, arousal and desire having taken your wheel within seconds of this all beginning.

“Not tonight,” he breathed, “much as I want to. I do have standards.”

“Which are?” you inquired, enjoying the way his nose was nuzzling against your cheek.

“At least one damn date. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“Well, let’s just go to the pub now and get it out of the way.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do that.”

Javi opened a new world for you, full of adventures and discoveries, both around the globe and at home. You went on trips, ate exotic foods, and kissed (and then some) in extravagant hotels. You met new people, made lasting friends, and soaked in everything life had to offer. Together, you promised each other that no matter what, you’d always approach life with eager curiosity and enduring excitement.

And it was together that you discovered an unknown, shared desire, in a series of exciting moments. First, with intrigue, blooming into interest before moving into action. 

The third time you slept together, after a day spent out on his boat, sunshine, sea salt, and summer filling the day, he took you to his bed to occupy the night. Javi’s a generous lover, not caring much for taking because all he ever wants to do is give, but you clawed your fingertips into the soft swell of his ass, and he keened, cumming with a loud, bitten-off shout not ten seconds later. 

You didn’t think about it again until weeks later, a rare instance where he yielded to your equal desire to give, your lips stretched around his fat cock, your knuckle brushing just underneath his heavy balls. His hips lifted off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets while a growl sprung off his tongue, one word rolling down his bare torso to your ears.

“Please.”

Javi hardly ever asked for anything, especially in bed, and you were all too eager to acquiesce. You pressed your knuckle into the same spot, massaging in slow, tiny circles, taking him further into your mouth, right to your limit. He gasped, the pillows crushing his soft curls, and came down your throat with a strangled whine, your name the only thing on his lips for several minutes. 

He told you he loved you that night. You mirrored his confession, his eyes lighting up when you said it back to him. 

Finally, last week, after a little too much wine, both of you heavy-lidded and liquid-warm, you decided to watch porn together. You were like giggly teens at first, passing by some of the more ridiculous sounding titles, avoiding step-family and pseudo-incest content with scrunched brows, until Javi’s alcohol-clumsy fingers accidentally clicked on a compelling video. 

A very compelling video. 

His breath caught in his chest as he watched the couple on the screen, the woman taking the man apart with a simple toy strapped to her hips.

And you?

You watched Javi. His brief moment of panic, forcing him to nearly slam the laptop shut. How he paused, plush lips parted with interest, eyes glued to the screen, bluish-silver light illuminating his face in the night-dark bedroom. How his breath shortened into pants, quick puffs of air filling up his chest. 

You curled in closer, one hand wrapping around his wrist to tug it away from the trackpad, a silent request to keep watching together. His whimper was music to your ears. Cheating a hand under the covers, you found him hard, leaking at the tip, a warm flush creeping up his torso. Using the grip he liked, you pumped him in your fist, synced in time with the woman’s thrusts. 

He was beautiful, curls flat and frizzy from a day in the Spanish sun, cheeks flushed from alcohol, his stubbled jaw dropping open and bleeding away the tension from the day as little mewls of pleasure fell from his lips. 

The woman on the screen slowed her hips, and your hand slowed to match, Javi’s eyes finally peeling from the laptop to find yours. 

The question was there, dancing at the edge of his soft gaze, lips parting to let the words free. You paused your hand so he could find focus through the heady blend of expensive wine and thrilling arousal. 

“Talk to me, sweet boy. Tell me what you want,” you whispered, watching as his brows pinched, his hips jerking up into your loosened grip, seeking friction. 

The man in the video moaned, loud and wanton, pulling your attention. When you looked back at Javi, his eyes were blown wide with lust.

And then, finally, he asked. 

“Would you–could we… try?” It was a soft question, tinged with a hint of shame, both for the act itself and for having to ask. 

Javi never asked for anything. He always said he didn’t need to when he already had everything. 

His vulnerability warmed your heart, then arousal pooled in your belly. The idea of him giving himself over to you that way, the amount of trust he held in his heart for you that he could even bring himself to ask…

You could hardly stand how badly you wanted to give it to him. 

“I’d love that,” you replied, tightening your grip on his cock. He groaned, a breathy thank you spoken into your crown, and your eyes fell back to the screen. You picked up the pace with your hand, savoring Javi surrendering his pleasure to you, and when he came in tandem with the man on the screen, you couldn’t hide your salacious smile. 

After Javi caught his breath, he thanked you thoroughly, his head between your thighs until just before sunrise. 

*

In the early afternoon, both of you indulging in a deep, rejuvenating sleep, you rolled over and nibbled Javi’s ear. 

“You’re still sure? Wasn’t just the wine talking?” you asked, sleep a raspy passenger in your voice. Javi nodded, a beautiful rosy wash of excitement and anticipation painting his cheeks. 

After a lot of giggly browsing—Javi angling his phone so you could see it as you nestled into the crook of his arm—and some careful deliberation, you decided on a relatively simple toy and harness. With a few taps on a tiny screen, the package was due to arrive in a few days.

And you planned to fill that time accordingly. 

*

The first night, you treated Javi to a full-body massage (after plenty of careful cajoling). You took your time, his oiled skin blooming warm, then hot, then blazing under your deft hands as you worked the knots from his muscles. You took extra time with his glutes, fingers digging into the crease where they met his thick thighs, thumb occasionally dragging lightly through the cleft of his ass. He whimpered, muffled by the pillows, his hips moving with tiny thrusts against the mattress, causing dimples to form on his lower back. You watched, ever-mesmerized by the beauty of his body.

When you finally encouraged him to roll over, he attempted to stutter out a faint apology, his cock half-hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

“It feels so good, mi amor,” he confessed. You cooed at him sweetly, washing away his worries as soon as you dug your thumbs into the strong muscles on his thighs. He groaned, surrendering to your ministrations, and you grinned, calling him a good boy.

You tucked his shudder at your words away for later use. 

As your hands ventured north, one wrapped around his achingly hard cock, while the other traveled lower to dip between his cheeks and brush against his hole. He nearly shook with anticipation, a spurt of precum splashing against the swell of his soft belly. 

Sufficiently oiled, you pressed your finger the tiniest bit forward, pumping the length of his cock, feeling him press against you, his body asking for more. 

“I need you to say it, sweet boy. Tell me you want my finger inside you.”

“Sí. Por favor,” he uttered, his curls sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

You pumped his cock a few times more for good measure, another bead of precum forming at the tip and adding to the slick slide of your palm, then pressed your finger just a little deeper, meeting the slight resistance of muscle. Javi whimpered, his cock jumping in your hand, thick and heavy with arousal. You felt him relax, his body drawing you in, the slide smooth and slick from oil. Javi’s eyes screwed shut, and his mouth dropped open, though no air escaped.

“Javi, breathe, my love,” you gently reminded him, rewarded with a deep breath that broke into a moan. “Good?”

He could only nod.

You hooked your finger up, timing it perfectly with a stroke of his cock, and Javi’s hips canted up with a shout, precum dribbling steadily from his tip. You paused, letting arousal swell heavy into the air, and when Javi whimpered for more, you gave in.

A few nimble flicks of both your wrists were all it took to have him trembling under your ministrations, his thick cum coating your fingers and his cock. You cleaned it up with your mouth until Javi shuddered from overstimulation, whining for you to kiss him instead.

He greedily chased the taste of himself on your lips, taking his own turn at pulling you apart until it was time to fuck you into the mattress.

You might’ve forgotten your name that night.  

*

The second night went even smoother, Javi readily taking two of your fingers and even begging for a third, his cock swollen and angry as it rested against his stomach, jumping with each pump of your slicked fingers.

Impressively, he took the third finger with little resistance, your sweet praise providing all the mental lubrication he needed. He pushed back against your fingers as you found that spot inside him, his lips muttering filth in Spanish, his cock dribbling precum across his skin.

He begged you to touch him, and you let him keep begging, only for a moment to keep him on edge, before wrapping a slicked hand around him and pumping him twice, rewarded with a loud, prolonged orgasm. His cum painted his torso in long, pearly ropes, some even landing on his chest, as his head tipped back into the pillows, his shout ricocheting off the bedroom walls.

When you were sure his body had nothing left to give, he asked you to do it again.

You grinned, all too happy to oblige. 

*

The package shows up with little fanfare, but Javi is like a kid at Christmas as soon as he sees it on the kitchen counter. 

“Now?” he suggests to you over your shared midday snack. You grin around a slice of fruit, shaking your head and bumping his hip with yours. 

“Your patience will be rewarded, my love. I wanna make it nice for you,” you tell him, watching a blush creep across his handsome face. You pick up a piece of fruit and press it to his lips, watching with hungry eyes as he takes it, his tongue poking out to taste the juice on your thumb. His hot gaze sluices over you like warmed honey; it takes everything in you to say the hell with it and agree to run off to your bedroom right now. 

You resist, and your reward is worth it. 

Javi lets you romance him. 

First, you cooked dinner, the meal light, simple, and fresh but no less delicious, compliments dropping from his mouth with every bite. It was the perfect start to the evening, with warm gazes and warmer smiles shared over the meal, your hand never leaving Javi’s thigh.

Next, you drew a bath, complete with the fanciest soaps you could find, an outrageous amount of candles, and two underpoured glasses of wine—enough to enjoy the taste without clouding judgment. You both slid into the steaming tub, you insisting on sitting behind Javi so you could rub his shoulders. Together, through a cloud of excited giggles and brushes of eager fingertips, you discussed safewords until Javi kissed the breath from your lungs, his patience for the leisurely pace waning.

Now, you’re on the bed, pressed together in a heap of downy blankets and pillows, Javi’s kisses growing more insistent by the second, even as you attempt to savor them. You want to bask in his kisses, sip on his lips like a fine wine, swirling it around on your tongue before drinking him down. But his cock ruts into your hip, a soft whimper rolling out of his mouth and into yours, and you know if you force him to tolerate this syrupy pace much longer, it might be considered torture.

You break the kiss, moving from the bed to grab the toy, Javi helping you into the harness with worshipful hands, his palms skating over your sides, his fingers hooking into the straps to ensure a tight-but-not-too-tight fit. 

You urge him to get comfortable on the bed with one final, deep kiss. He scoots up the bed, head landing on a soft pillow, shoving a spare pillow under his hips for added support, then settles onto his back, wild eyes scanning your naked form. 

You smile at him, soft and loving, before moving to the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. You settle between his thighs, already spread wide for you, and reach for the bottle of lube, the click reverberating through the quiet bedroom. Javi swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with effort, his eyes glued to your fingers as you coat them first, then the toy nestled between your hipbones.  

“Do you remember your safe words?” you ask as you work lube along the toy’s shaft, your eyes trailing up the length of his body. He’s stunning like this, completely bare and laid out before you, his skin flushed a dusty pink, his curls a halo on the pillow behind him. Affection blooms in your chest, warming you to your toes, the amount of trust this man is placing upon your shoulders to take him apart without harming him. It gives you a new appreciation for all the times he worked you into a babbling mess without ever losing sight of your needs, no matter how good things felt for him. 

Javi nods, repeating the stoplight system, his hands fisting the sheets near his hips. You coat two fingers with more of the slippery smooth liquid, gliding it between your fingers and thumb in buttery soft circles.

“Okay, my sweet boy. Let’s see how pretty you open up for me.”

Javi gasps as your fingers stroke between his cheeks, his thick thighs falling further apart to give you all the space you need. You press forward, his puckered hole taking them with ease, two days' worth of practice apparently enough for him to open up beautifully for you.

“That’s it, my love, already taking me so well.” Your praise works wonders, Javi shuddering beneath you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he suppresses a whimper. 

You work your fingers into him, pumping in and out, scissoring them apart to stretch him open, relishing every sound you pull from his lips as you prep him to take the strap-on. 

“Color?” you ask in a husky whisper, lust clinging to your tone.

“Green,” Javi breathes, pressing against your fingers as you bury them as deep as you can. “Mi amor… please.”

Javi’s eyes dart to the sleek, black toy nestled in the harness, the sheen of lube shining in the low light. Gingerly, you remove your fingers from him, sliding them up and over his balls to wrap around his thick cock. Javi groans, crushing his curls into the pillow and stretching his neck long. 

You pump him a few times, enough to coat his cock in the excess lube, his tip already leaking a steady stream of precum that blends seamlessly into the slick mess. He feels heavy, weighty in your palm, his hips flexing slightly with each slide of your hand as he attempts to chase all the friction you’ll give him. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” you coo, and Javi whines excitedly, throwing one arm over his eyes, a garbled plea for you to take him apart dancing on his plush lips.

You’d never deny this man anything.

Squaring your hips, you line the silicone toy up with his entrance, your hand guiding the way. Javi’s cock jerks against his belly when you make contact, leaking a spurt of clear, silvery fluid into his happy trail. Your free hand slides down the inside of his thigh, pressing his legs further apart. He’s holding a little tension in them, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement, and you dig your fingers into his leg just slightly, attempting to massage the tension out. 

“Relax for me, my love,” you whisper to him, sweet like honey, and he does. 

Your Javi has always been such a good boy. 

“Good boy, that’s it.” You press forward slightly, the tip of the toy breaching him, and Javi keens, one fist tangling in the sheets, the other snaking into his hair to tug on his messy curls. You watch his chest heave with a few deep, centering breaths, pleasure washing his skin sunset pink and goosebump-dappled before checking in. 

“More?”

“Please. I can take it,” he grates, pulling his lip between his teeth again.

You smile, reaching for both of his thighs, hitching them up your hips as you press forward with a little more force, the toy gliding halfway inside him with no resistance.

“Yeah, you can. Look at you, baby.”

You back out slightly before pushing deeper again, the air whooshing from Javi’s lungs, his hips chasing yours, trying to force the toy deeper. 

“All of it,” he pleads, and fuck, it’s such a pretty sound—reedy and desperate—if he ever wants to do this again, you’d take your time drawing that tone from him repeatedly. You thrust forward until your hips are flush with his, a faint, awe-struck ‘oh’ catching in Javi’s throat.

You suspend time there for a moment, running your palms along his pleasure-flushed thighs, digging your thumbs into his hip creases, watching his cock leak onto his belly. It’s mesmerizing, having this much power over his pleasure; your thighs nearly shake with it, knowing how easily you could take him apart, and you wonder if this is what it’s like when he’s inside you.

Javi whines, something thin and high-pitched, most of it gathering in his throat before breezing out his nostrils, and his heels dig into the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to move.

You test a few shallow thrusts, ensuring a comfortable glide for you both, and you’re rewarded with the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard.

“Just like that,” Javi begs, and your hips find an easy, steady rhythm from there.

With each stroke of the toy, you swear you can almost feel it, like a phantom limb, an extension of your body that you’re using to break him apart in the best way imaginable. You watch as your hips drag the toy through Javi’s ass, his cock jumping with each thrust, his fingers twisting in the blankets until his knuckles have turned white. He’s a mess beneath you, babbling curses and begging for more, his cock flushed and angry, a beautiful sight you won’t soon forget. 

You shift, tilting your hips, and Javi positively mewls, the toy brushing along the spot inside him you spent the last two days mapping with precision. He jolts under you, a gasp rattling around in his chest, his hand reaching for his cock, but you bat it away. 

“Let me,” you instruct, curling your fingers around him. He fucks up into your hand, his ass bearing down on the toy with each stroke, creating a sloppy rhythm as you roll your hips in tandem, chasing his pleasure.

Suddenly, Javi’s hips seize, his thighs clamping tight around your waist, his hand curling around yours to halt your ministrations. You stop moving altogether, worry worming its way through your belly. He shakes his head, a soft, pathetic no tumbling from his lips. He squeezes your fist, encouraging you to grip him tighter, and presses his heels into your thighs again.

“Keep going, mi amor, please,” he groans, and you can hear how close he is in his tone.

With his fist around yours, you move your hips again, firmer thrusts jerking his body up the bed. You can feel his cock pulsing in your palm like a heartbeat, a steady thrum of arousal coursing through him, hot and liquid in his blood as you work the toy deeper into his ass with each controlled pump of your hips.

Javi’s thighs squeeze you tighter, his mouth dropping open with a slight cry, and you feel his cock twitch, the first spurt of cum splashing hot across his torso. You keep your pace even, each thrust of your hips working another rope of cum over his skin, shiny with a glow of sweat, painting his torso like a canvas. Javi moans through it, exquisite sighs and pleasured shouts, his fist keeping you firmly in place, his thighs trembling over your hipbones as his orgasm threads its way through his body.

Finally, with a whimper, he chokes out one word that has you halting all movement.

“Red, red, too much,” he pants, and you freeze.

Beneath you, he’s the prettiest picture of debauchery; his curls a sweaty, tangled mess, his lips puffy from being bitten, his entire torso painted from navel to sternum in streaks of pearly cum. His cock softens slightly in your palm, lifeless and spent, a final bead of cum nestled on the tip, just begging for you to lick it off and taste him. You resist, his nerves overwrought, a live wire that’ll shock him into oblivion if you touch him further, content to admire the view instead. 

His thighs loosen around your waist, dropping into the mattress next to your knees, and he lets out the most bone-deep, satisfied sigh you’ve ever heard another human make.

Carefully, you slide the toy from inside him, moving at a glacial pace as he shudders under you, each incremental slide of the toy shooting tendrils of pleasure through his veins. Once you’re free of him, you nestle in alongside him, his skin tacky and warm, pricking pleasantly against your own.

His eyes trail down the length of his body, surveying the mess you’ve both created, a hint of heat still simmering in his dark eyes. You follow his gaze, your fingertips twitching with desire before moving into action, two of them swiping through the cum streaking his skin. You pop both fingers onto your tongue, greedily sucking them into your mouth, tasting the salt-bitter-tang of him. Javi’s eyes darken, his nostrils flaring with a deep inhale, his gaze forcing fire into your blood.

He reaches for your wrist, your fingers pulled from your mouth with a pop, and guides your hand to make the same motion again. Your fingers swipe through another trail of cum on his chest, his release thick and sticky on your fingertips, your brain temporarily leaving the room as he pushes your cum-coated fingers past his lips. He moans around your fingers, licking and sucking and tasting, his eyelids fluttering closed until his lashes dance along the high point of his sex-pinked cheeks.

“Javi, holy shit,” you breathe, the sound of your voice nearly unrecognizable, thick and husky with lust. It’s only now, after you’ve taken him apart, that you realize you’re throbbing between your legs, slick coating the inside of your thighs and smearing everywhere, your body crying out for release. Any other time, it’d be uncomfortable, something you’d take care of either on your own or pressed into sheets underneath Javi. But right now, you shift your focus back to him.

“Was that–” you swallow, suddenly shy, “good?”

You fight back the urge to cringe at how unsure you sound.

“Mi amor,” Javi breathes, his eyes adoring, reverent, not a shred of tension to be found within his soft gaze. “That was everything. Thank you.”

You dip your head to kiss him briefly, letting him know you’ll make short work of cleaning him up. The harness comes off in a breeze, tossed aside to deal with later, and you’re quick to return from the ensuite with a warm cloth and a cool glass of water. Javi takes a long pull from the cup while you wipe him clean, a dry towel in the wake of the wet one to stave off any late-night shivers.

When you’ve finished, you crawl under the covers, allowing him to curl around your body, his head nestling into the crook of your neck. Javi whispers a string of sweet adorations, some in English, some in Spanish, before his breathing settles into a deep, even cadence, indicating he’s dozed off. You smile to yourself, burying your nose into his messy curls, savoring the scent of sea-salty air, rosemary, and citrus before being pulled into a light doze.

A few hours later, when Javi wakes you with that same bright grin from the day you met, you happily welcome his request to return the favor.

*

Javi opened a new world for you, full of adventures and discoveries, both around the globe and at home. You went on trips, ate exotic foods, and kissed (and then some) in extravagant hotels. You met new people, made lasting friends, and soaked in everything life had to offer. Together, you promised each other that no matter what, you’d always approach life with eager curiosity and enduring excitement.

And it was together that you discovered an unknown, shared desire, in a series of exciting moments. First, with intrigue, blooming into interest before moving into action. 

The third time you slept together, after a day spent out on his boat, sunshine, sea salt, and summer filling the day, he took you to his bed to occupy the night. Javi’s a generous lover, not caring much for taking because all he ever wants to do is give, but you clawed your fingertips into the soft swell of his ass, and he keened, cumming with a loud, bitten-off shout not ten seconds later. 

You didn’t think about it again until weeks later, a rare instance where he yielded to your equal desire to give, your lips stretched around his fat cock, your knuckle brushing just underneath his heavy balls. His hips lifted off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets while a growl sprung off his tongue, one word rolling down his bare torso to your ears.

“Please.”

Javi hardly ever asked for anything, especially in bed, and you were all too eager to acquiesce. You pressed your knuckle into the same spot, massaging in slow, tiny circles, taking him further into your mouth, right to your limit. He gasped, the pillows crushing his soft curls, and came down your throat with a strangled whine, your name the only thing on his lips for several minutes. 

He told you he loved you that night. You mirrored his confession, his eyes lighting up when you said it back to him. 

Finally, last week, after a little too much wine, both of you heavy-lidded and liquid-warm, you decided to watch porn together. You were like giggly teens at first, passing by some of the more ridiculous sounding titles, avoiding step-family and pseudo-incest content with scrunched brows, until Javi’s alcohol-clumsy fingers accidentally clicked on a compelling video. 

A very compelling video. 

His breath caught in his chest as he watched the couple on the screen, the woman taking the man apart with a simple toy strapped to her hips.

And you?

You watched Javi. His brief moment of panic, forcing him to nearly slam the laptop shut. How he paused, plush lips parted with interest, eyes glued to the screen, bluish-silver light illuminating his face in the night-dark bedroom. How his breath shortened into pants, quick puffs of air filling up his chest. 

You curled in closer, one hand wrapping around his wrist to tug it away from the trackpad, a silent request to keep watching together. His whimper was music to your ears. Cheating a hand under the covers, you found him hard, leaking at the tip, a warm flush creeping up his torso. Using the grip he liked, you pumped him in your fist, synced in time with the woman’s thrusts. 

He was beautiful, curls flat and frizzy from a day in the Spanish sun, cheeks flushed from alcohol, his stubbled jaw dropping open and bleeding away the tension from the day as little mewls of pleasure fell from his lips. 

The woman on the screen slowed her hips, and your hand slowed to match, Javi’s eyes finally peeling from the laptop to find yours. 

The question was there, dancing at the edge of his soft gaze, lips parting to let the words free. You paused your hand so he could find focus through the heady blend of expensive wine and thrilling arousal. 

“Talk to me, sweet boy. Tell me what you want,” you whispered, watching as his brows pinched, his hips jerking up into your loosened grip, seeking friction. 

The man in the video moaned, loud and wanton, pulling your attention. When you looked back at Javi, his eyes were blown wide with lust.

And then, finally, he asked. 

“Would you–could we… try?” It was a soft question, tinged with a hint of shame, both for the act itself and for having to ask. 

Javi never asked for anything. He always said he didn’t need to when he already had everything. 

His vulnerability warmed your heart, then arousal pooled in your belly. The idea of him giving himself over to you that way, the amount of trust he held in his heart for you that he could even bring himself to ask…

You could hardly stand how badly you wanted to give it to him. 

“I’d love that,” you replied, tightening your grip on his cock. He groaned, a breathy thank you spoken into your crown, and your eyes fell back to the screen. You picked up the pace with your hand, savoring Javi surrendering his pleasure to you, and when he came in tandem with the man on the screen, you couldn’t hide your salacious smile. 

After Javi caught his breath, he thanked you thoroughly, his head between your thighs until just before sunrise. 

*

In the early afternoon, both of you indulging in a deep, rejuvenating sleep, you rolled over and nibbled Javi’s ear. 

“You’re still sure? Wasn’t just the wine talking?” you asked, sleep a raspy passenger in your voice. Javi nodded, a beautiful rosy wash of excitement and anticipation painting his cheeks. 

After a lot of giggly browsing—Javi angling his phone so you could see it as you nestled into the crook of his arm—and some careful deliberation, you decided on a relatively simple toy and harness. With a few taps on a tiny screen, the package was due to arrive in a few days.

And you planned to fill that time accordingly. 

*

The first night, you treated Javi to a full-body massage (after plenty of careful cajoling). You took your time, his oiled skin blooming warm, then hot, then blazing under your deft hands as you worked the knots from his muscles. You took extra time with his glutes, fingers digging into the crease where they met his thick thighs, thumb occasionally dragging lightly through the cleft of his ass. He whimpered, muffled by the pillows, his hips moving with tiny thrusts against the mattress, causing dimples to form on his lower back. You watched, ever-mesmerized by the beauty of his body.

When you finally encouraged him to roll over, he attempted to stutter out a faint apology, his cock half-hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

“It feels so good, mi amor,” he confessed. You cooed at him sweetly, washing away his worries as soon as you dug your thumbs into the strong muscles on his thighs. He groaned, surrendering to your ministrations, and you grinned, calling him a good boy.

You tucked his shudder at your words away for later use. 

As your hands ventured north, one wrapped around his achingly hard cock, while the other traveled lower to dip between his cheeks and brush against his hole. He nearly shook with anticipation, a spurt of precum splashing against the swell of his soft belly. 

Sufficiently oiled, you pressed your finger the tiniest bit forward, pumping the length of his cock, feeling him press against you, his body asking for more. 

“I need you to say it, sweet boy. Tell me you want my finger inside you.”

“Sí. Por favor,” he uttered, his curls sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

You pumped his cock a few times more for good measure, another bead of precum forming at the tip and adding to the slick slide of your palm, then pressed your finger just a little deeper, meeting the slight resistance of muscle. Javi whimpered, his cock jumping in your hand, thick and heavy with arousal. You felt him relax, his body drawing you in, the slide smooth and slick from oil. Javi’s eyes screwed shut, and his mouth dropped open, though no air escaped.

“Javi, breathe, my love,” you gently reminded him, rewarded with a deep breath that broke into a moan. “Good?”

He could only nod.

You hooked your finger up, timing it perfectly with a stroke of his cock, and Javi’s hips canted up with a shout, precum dribbling steadily from his tip. You paused, letting arousal swell heavy into the air, and when Javi whimpered for more, you gave in.

A few nimble flicks of both your wrists were all it took to have him trembling under your ministrations, his thick cum coating your fingers and his cock. You cleaned it up with your mouth until Javi shuddered from overstimulation, whining for you to kiss him instead.

He greedily chased the taste of himself on your lips, taking his own turn at pulling you apart until it was time to fuck you into the mattress.

You might’ve forgotten your name that night.  

*

The second night went even smoother, Javi readily taking two of your fingers and even begging for a third, his cock swollen and angry as it rested against his stomach, jumping with each pump of your slicked fingers.

Impressively, he took the third finger with little resistance, your sweet praise providing all the mental lubrication he needed. He pushed back against your fingers as you found that spot inside him, his lips muttering filth in Spanish, his cock dribbling precum across his skin.

He begged you to touch him, and you let him keep begging, only for a moment to keep him on edge, before wrapping a slicked hand around him and pumping him twice, rewarded with a loud, prolonged orgasm. His cum painted his torso in long, pearly ropes, some even landing on his chest, as his head tipped back into the pillows, his shout ricocheting off the bedroom walls.

When you were sure his body had nothing left to give, he asked you to do it again.

You grinned, all too happy to oblige. 

*

The package shows up with little fanfare, but Javi is like a kid at Christmas as soon as he sees it on the kitchen counter. 

“Now?” he suggests to you over your shared midday snack. You grin around a slice of fruit, shaking your head and bumping his hip with yours. 

“Your patience will be rewarded, my love. I wanna make it nice for you,” you tell him, watching a blush creep across his handsome face. You pick up a piece of fruit and press it to his lips, watching with hungry eyes as he takes it, his tongue poking out to taste the juice on your thumb. His hot gaze sluices over you like warmed honey; it takes everything in you to say the hell with it and agree to run off to your bedroom right now. 

You resist, and your reward is worth it. 

Javi lets you romance him. 

First, you cooked dinner, the meal light, simple, and fresh but no less delicious, compliments dropping from his mouth with every bite. It was the perfect start to the evening, with warm gazes and warmer smiles shared over the meal, your hand never leaving Javi’s thigh.

Next, you drew a bath, complete with the fanciest soaps you could find, an outrageous amount of candles, and two underpoured glasses of wine—enough to enjoy the taste without clouding judgment. You both slid into the steaming tub, you insisting on sitting behind Javi so you could rub his shoulders. Together, through a cloud of excited giggles and brushes of eager fingertips, you discussed safewords until Javi kissed the breath from your lungs, his patience for the leisurely pace waning.

Now, you’re on the bed, pressed together in a heap of downy blankets and pillows, Javi’s kisses growing more insistent by the second, even as you attempt to savor them. You want to bask in his kisses, sip on his lips like a fine wine, swirling it around on your tongue before drinking him down. But his cock ruts into your hip, a soft whimper rolling out of his mouth and into yours, and you know if you force him to tolerate this syrupy pace much longer, it might be considered torture.

You break the kiss, moving from the bed to grab the toy, Javi helping you into the harness with worshipful hands, his palms skating over your sides, his fingers hooking into the straps to ensure a tight-but-not-too-tight fit. 

You urge him to get comfortable on the bed with one final, deep kiss. He scoots up the bed, head landing on a soft pillow, shoving a spare pillow under his hips for added support, then settles onto his back, wild eyes scanning your naked form. 

You smile at him, soft and loving, before moving to the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. You settle between his thighs, already spread wide for you, and reach for the bottle of lube, the click reverberating through the quiet bedroom. Javi swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with effort, his eyes glued to your fingers as you coat them first, then the toy nestled between your hipbones.  

“Do you remember your safe words?” you ask as you work lube along the toy’s shaft, your eyes trailing up the length of his body. He’s stunning like this, completely bare and laid out before you, his skin flushed a dusty pink, his curls a halo on the pillow behind him. Affection blooms in your chest, warming you to your toes, the amount of trust this man is placing upon your shoulders to take him apart without harming him. It gives you a new appreciation for all the times he worked you into a babbling mess without ever losing sight of your needs, no matter how good things felt for him. 

Javi nods, repeating the stoplight system, his hands fisting the sheets near his hips. You coat two fingers with more of the slippery smooth liquid, gliding it between your fingers and thumb in buttery soft circles.

“Okay, my sweet boy. Let’s see how pretty you open up for me.”

Javi gasps as your fingers stroke between his cheeks, his thick thighs falling further apart to give you all the space you need. You press forward, his puckered hole taking them with ease, two days' worth of practice apparently enough for him to open up beautifully for you.

“That’s it, my love, already taking me so well.” Your praise works wonders, Javi shuddering beneath you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he suppresses a whimper. 

You work your fingers into him, pumping in and out, scissoring them apart to stretch him open, relishing every sound you pull from his lips as you prep him to take the strap-on. 

“Color?” you ask in a husky whisper, lust clinging to your tone.

“Green,” Javi breathes, pressing against your fingers as you bury them as deep as you can. “Mi amor… please.”

Javi’s eyes dart to the sleek, black toy nestled in the harness, the sheen of lube shining in the low light. Gingerly, you remove your fingers from him, sliding them up and over his balls to wrap around his thick cock. Javi groans, crushing his curls into the pillow and stretching his neck long. 

You pump him a few times, enough to coat his cock in the excess lube, his tip already leaking a steady stream of precum that blends seamlessly into the slick mess. He feels heavy, weighty in your palm, his hips flexing slightly with each slide of your hand as he attempts to chase all the friction you’ll give him. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” you coo, and Javi whines excitedly, throwing one arm over his eyes, a garbled plea for you to take him apart dancing on his plush lips.

You’d never deny this man anything.

Squaring your hips, you line the silicone toy up with his entrance, your hand guiding the way. Javi’s cock jerks against his belly when you make contact, leaking a spurt of clear, silvery fluid into his happy trail. Your free hand slides down the inside of his thigh, pressing his legs further apart. He’s holding a little tension in them, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement, and you dig your fingers into his leg just slightly, attempting to massage the tension out. 

“Relax for me, my love,” you whisper to him, sweet like honey, and he does. 

Your Javi has always been such a good boy. 

“Good boy, that’s it.” You press forward slightly, the tip of the toy breaching him, and Javi keens, one fist tangling in the sheets, the other snaking into his hair to tug on his messy curls. You watch his chest heave with a few deep, centering breaths, pleasure washing his skin sunset pink and goosebump-dappled before checking in. 

“More?”

“Please. I can take it,” he grates, pulling his lip between his teeth again.

You smile, reaching for both of his thighs, hitching them up your hips as you press forward with a little more force, the toy gliding halfway inside him with no resistance.

“Yeah, you can. Look at you, baby.”

You back out slightly before pushing deeper again, the air whooshing from Javi’s lungs, his hips chasing yours, trying to force the toy deeper. 

“All of it,” he pleads, and fuck, it’s such a pretty sound—reedy and desperate—if he ever wants to do this again, you’d take your time drawing that tone from him repeatedly. You thrust forward until your hips are flush with his, a faint, awe-struck ‘oh’ catching in Javi’s throat.

You suspend time there for a moment, running your palms along his pleasure-flushed thighs, digging your thumbs into his hip creases, watching his cock leak onto his belly. It’s mesmerizing, having this much power over his pleasure; your thighs nearly shake with it, knowing how easily you could take him apart, and you wonder if this is what it’s like when he’s inside you.

Javi whines, something thin and high-pitched, most of it gathering in his throat before breezing out his nostrils, and his heels dig into the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to move.

You test a few shallow thrusts, ensuring a comfortable glide for you both, and you’re rewarded with the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard.

“Just like that,” Javi begs, and your hips find an easy, steady rhythm from there.

With each stroke of the toy, you swear you can almost feel it, like a phantom limb, an extension of your body that you’re using to break him apart in the best way imaginable. You watch as your hips drag the toy through Javi’s ass, his cock jumping with each thrust, his fingers twisting in the blankets until his knuckles have turned white. He’s a mess beneath you, babbling curses and begging for more, his cock flushed and angry, a beautiful sight you won’t soon forget. 

You shift, tilting your hips, and Javi positively mewls, the toy brushing along the spot inside him you spent the last two days mapping with precision. He jolts under you, a gasp rattling around in his chest, his hand reaching for his cock, but you bat it away. 

“Let me,” you instruct, curling your fingers around him. He fucks up into your hand, his ass bearing down on the toy with each stroke, creating a sloppy rhythm as you roll your hips in tandem, chasing his pleasure.

Suddenly, Javi’s hips seize, his thighs clamping tight around your waist, his hand curling around yours to halt your ministrations. You stop moving altogether, worry worming its way through your belly. He shakes his head, a soft, pathetic no tumbling from his lips. He squeezes your fist, encouraging you to grip him tighter, and presses his heels into your thighs again.

“Keep going, mi amor, please,” he groans, and you can hear how close he is in his tone.

With his fist around yours, you move your hips again, firmer thrusts jerking his body up the bed. You can feel his cock pulsing in your palm like a heartbeat, a steady thrum of arousal coursing through him, hot and liquid in his blood as you work the toy deeper into his ass with each controlled pump of your hips.

Javi’s thighs squeeze you tighter, his mouth dropping open with a slight cry, and you feel his cock twitch, the first spurt of cum splashing hot across his torso. You keep your pace even, each thrust of your hips working another rope of cum over his skin, shiny with a glow of sweat, painting his torso like a canvas. Javi moans through it, exquisite sighs and pleasured shouts, his fist keeping you firmly in place, his thighs trembling over your hipbones as his orgasm threads its way through his body.

Finally, with a whimper, he chokes out one word that has you halting all movement.

“Red, red, too much,” he pants, and you freeze.

Beneath you, he’s the prettiest picture of debauchery; his curls a sweaty, tangled mess, his lips puffy from being bitten, his entire torso painted from navel to sternum in streaks of pearly cum. His cock softens slightly in your palm, lifeless and spent, a final bead of cum nestled on the tip, just begging for you to lick it off and taste him. You resist, his nerves overwrought, a live wire that’ll shock him into oblivion if you touch him further, content to admire the view instead. 

His thighs loosen around your waist, dropping into the mattress next to your knees, and he lets out the most bone-deep, satisfied sigh you’ve ever heard another human make.

Carefully, you slide the toy from inside him, moving at a glacial pace as he shudders under you, each incremental slide of the toy shooting tendrils of pleasure through his veins. Once you’re free of him, you nestle in alongside him, his skin tacky and warm, pricking pleasantly against your own.

His eyes trail down the length of his body, surveying the mess you’ve both created, a hint of heat still simmering in his dark eyes. You follow his gaze, your fingertips twitching with desire before moving into action, two of them swiping through the cum streaking his skin. You pop both fingers onto your tongue, greedily sucking them into your mouth, tasting the salt-bitter-tang of him. Javi’s eyes darken, his nostrils flaring with a deep inhale, his gaze forcing fire into your blood.

He reaches for your wrist, your fingers pulled from your mouth with a pop, and guides your hand to make the same motion again. Your fingers swipe through another trail of cum on his chest, his release thick and sticky on your fingertips, your brain temporarily leaving the room as he pushes your cum-coated fingers past his lips. He moans around your fingers, licking and sucking and tasting, his eyelids fluttering closed until his lashes dance along the high point of his sex-pinked cheeks.

“Javi, holy shit,” you breathe, the sound of your voice nearly unrecognizable, thick and husky with lust. It’s only now, after you’ve taken him apart, that you realize you’re throbbing between your legs, slick coating the inside of your thighs and smearing everywhere, your body crying out for release. Any other time, it’d be uncomfortable, something you’d take care of either on your own or pressed into sheets underneath Javi. But right now, you shift your focus back to him.

“Was that–” you swallow, suddenly shy, “good?”

You fight back the urge to cringe at how unsure you sound.

“Mi amor,” Javi breathes, his eyes adoring, reverent, not a shred of tension to be found within his soft gaze. “That was everything. Thank you.”

You dip your head to kiss him briefly, letting him know you’ll make short work of cleaning him up. The harness comes off in a breeze, tossed aside to deal with later, and you’re quick to return from the ensuite with a warm cloth and a cool glass of water. Javi takes a long pull from the cup while you wipe him clean, a dry towel in the wake of the wet one to stave off any late-night shivers.

When you’ve finished, you crawl under the covers, allowing him to curl around your body, his head nestling into the crook of your neck. Javi whispers a string of sweet adorations, some in English, some in Spanish, before his breathing settles into a deep, even cadence, indicating he’s dozed off. You smile to yourself, burying your nose into his messy curls, savoring the scent of sea-salty air, rosemary, and citrus before being pulled into a light doze.

A few hours later, when Javi wakes you with that same bright grin from the day you met, you happily welcome his request to return the favor.

*