ava ♡

You weren’t supposed to be home tonight.

Picking up shifts at the diner, unfortunately, were unpredictable at times. The restaurant was either over-staffed or under, with no inbetween. So when your phone rang during the twenty minute drive to town, there was a fifty percent chance you’d get the don’t bother, it’s slow spiel from the manager.

After confirming twice – just to be sure, of course – that your presence wasn’t required tonight, you decide to swing by and grab a bite to eat before returning to the apartment. You fire off a quick text to your roommate, Luke, asking if he’d like anything. He’s a terrible, terrible cook. Can’t use an oven to save his life, poor thing. The two of you mainly survive off of your passable skills of recreating TikTok recipes Luke wants to try and Luke’s obsession with takeout.

When you don’t receive a response before placing the order, you decide to choose something for him anyway. The only thing Luke’s worse at than cooking is answering his phone. Half the time he’s left it somewhere with no knowledge of its whereabouts, and any other time he’s got Do Not Disturb on, so there’s really no point in contacting him at all. That’s a problem for his future girlfriend slash eventually wife, not you, his long-time friend and reluctantly, current roommate.

Living with Luke isn’t all bad. He’s got a beautiful voice. When he sings in the shower it’s like a personal concert, and although he leaves wet towels on the floor and finishes off the shampoo without telling you, he’s respectful. He doesn’t bring any girls home, so there’s no explicit noises wafting through the thin wall separating your bedrooms. And in return you do the same, keeping any activities strictly elsewhere.

It’s not like you’re having much luck in that department anyway.

Guys these days, at least the ones you’ve been meeting, don’t take too kindly to your best friend. The number of times you’ve heard oh, that’s him? you’re sure you’re just friends? is honestly ridiculous. God forbid you’re close with someone platonically these days.

And like, okay, yeah, you know Luke’s an attractive guy. With his stupid blonde hair he never styles but always falls perfectly, and his pretty, sparkly blue eyes, he’s honestly a main love interest in a romance novel for sure. But you’ve been there for Luke’s horrible acne and shuffle-dancing obsession, for his drunken karaoke nights that consist solely of the HSM3 soundtrack, you’ve seen him at his worst. 

But that’s the whole thing. He’s.. He’s like, the cutest guy on campus. The one who dates the cheerleaders or volleyball players or something equally cliche. He tells you about his failed sexcapades and shitty dates over popcorn and dollar store candy. You’re best friends, nothing more, nothing less.

Even if sometimes you wish that wasn’t the case.

Yeah, a girl with a fleeting crush on her guy best friend. A terrible cliche, really. But you know it won’t go anywhere, especially considering the fact that you’re one hundred percent not Luke’s type at all. If his hookup stories are anything to go by, you’re the moon and he’s out there looking for the sun. He likes submissive women. Luke’s not bossy but he wears the pants in the bedroom, as he says, and that’s so incredibly far from what you’re into it’s funny.

Stupid crush aside, you head back to the apartment, shaking the thoughts of Luke around in your head like a loose screw in a drawer. You’ll only be living with him for six more months, and when the lease expires on your apartment the two of you will go your separate ways. He’ll probably move in with Calum and Michael and you’ll figure something out. You can’t be stuck with him forever.

With your head full of fuzzy, Luke-centric thoughts and armed with a bag of delicious takeout from your favorite spot, the trek up to your second floor apartment seems to pass by in a blur. The fluorescent lights buzz and hum and flicker above you and eventually, within what seems like seconds, you’re fishing the apartment keys from your pocket to unlock the door.

Except nothing could have ever prepared you for what welcomes you on the other side.

The apartment is dark, save for the television illuminating the open living room in a soft glow. Your heart leaps into your throat after the door clicks shut, shoes squealing on the cheap flooring as you freeze in place, and somehow you manage not to drop your dinner. 

You can’t make out what’s unfolding on the television but you hear it, the noises and sounds of skin and pleasure, yet what catches your attention solely is your roommate. Bare skin flushed, lounging on the couch with his thighs splayed open, head tilted back with his plush, pink lips and the whiniest sounds spilling out of them. Hands roaming in places you’ve only imagined you’d ever see.

“I–” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. Like lead, preventing you from making your presence truly known. It feels all types of wrong, witnessing Luke like this, while he’s clearly in the middle of something and hadn’t expected you to be home.

You’re torn. Should you chalk this up to an awkward moment? One you can laugh about later on, and never truly acknowledge the swarm of lustful butterflies stirring inside you? Or, do you just rip the moment apart and start packing your things?

Despite the low light and gentle sounds from the video Luke had put on the t.v., you can clearly hear the sharp, low breath he sucks in when his eyes flutter open. Glimmery, sapphire blue you’d liken to the ocean, now a dark navy that makes your skin prick with goosebumps. It was a look you’d only read about in stupid books, so desperate and hopeful and sinful all at once.

“You’re– you’re home,” He sounds hoarse, as if every moan he’d retched around the apartment reduced his voice to a mere rasp. Luke’s hands don’t halt their exploration, one wrapped loosely around himself while the other traces the inside of his left thigh delicately. “Got a little ahead of myself. M’sorry.”

What the fuck?

You’re incapable of speaking, mouth fallen open like a fish out of water because what?

“Luke, I..” Your words almost sound slurred, blending into the soft sounds in the apartment. You slowly set the takeout bag on the floor, feeling so dirty with the way your eyes refuse to leave Luke. He looks almost ethereal in the television light, like something out of a magazine. “What..”

“I was hoping– hnnnf– hoping you’d wanna watch,” The way Luke’s looking at you feels wrong. Wrong, because that’s how Luke looks when he’s on the prowl, when his sights are set on some girl at the bar. Never you, though, because you’re not his type. Nothing makes sense. “From what you’ve told me – shit – you like watching. Like being in control,”

Luke’s breaths stutter as his chest begins to rise and fall a bit quicker. “And– fuck, Y/N, you have no idea how long I’ve– been thinking about it. Fantasizing. Wishing you’d come home and find me like this. Telling me where to touch, when to– I– oh fuck.”

Luke’s clearly on the edge already, desperately clinging to anything to keep himself from going over the cliff. He squeezes the base of his cock with a low hiss. “Please,” He says. Almost a plea, with how whiny it is. “Please.” He repeats.

Something inside of you snaps, then, like a rubber band pulled and pulled and pulled so tightly, a flush taking over your cheeks and body, ears hot. Your feet move of their own accord, brain a frenzy of the most ridiculous thoughts, as you slowly step closer to the couch.

Despite stretching across the entire sofa, even with his legs bent and thighs open the way they are, Luke looks so small. The way his dark lashes flutter, his hair messily strewn across his forehead, lightly dampened with sweat. He looks beautiful. 

You want to ruin him.

“You’re so desperate for it,” You say, arms crossing over your chest, nerves fluttering and buzzing every bone in your body. Words come easy, ironically now, like they’re not coming from you at all. “You did all this,” You gesture to him with your chin, eyes narrowed. “Hoping I’d be into it?”

Luke’s cock kicks in his hand. “Yeah,” He says breathily, plush lower lip tucked between his teeth. “Even if you weren’t, I’d probably get off to you yelling at me for it.”

Good Lord, is Luke Hemmings even real?

“Slow down,” You scold softly. “You’re working yourself up too much. It won’t be worth it,” He sucks in a tiny whine, you watch as his throat bobs with the noise catching there. Luke’s hips shift, as if it pains him to slow but he complies. “What else have you fantasized about?”

Luke looks bashful, then, and tears his eyes away from yours. “No, look at me.” You tell him.

He listens so well. You consider complimenting him, telling him just that, but perhaps you’ll save that for later. After this, whatever the hell it is, is over.

“Just– um,” He shudders, working himself slowly, thumb running over the tip of his cock. “Fuck, like– thought about you riding me – my face, actually. God, I love your thighs.”

“You want me to ride your face?” You ask. 

“Yes.” He whines softly, hips jerking.

“Do you think you deserve that?” 

“No.”

“At least you’re self aware,” You snort, stomach twisting as color floods Luke’s face. So bashful and embarrassed, though he doesn’t stop touching for a second. Slow and tortuous. “What do you think you deserve?”

Luke squeaks out a rasped, “Nothing.”

You watch in awe as pre-cum pools at his tip, swiped away by his thumb, beautifully slick along the length of his cock. You can’t help but let your mind run wild with the worst scenarios imaginable. The positions you’d put him in – the noises you could draw from him. He’s simply putty in your hands and you haven’t even touched him. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” You hum, arms uncrossing. “You at least deserve to cum.”

Luke hisses thankfully at that.

“But I’m trying to figure out how.” You say. 

Luke tosses his head back with a low, strangled groan.

“Oh, I know. You poor thing,” You tilt your head, tone mocking, as if talking to a puppy. “Think you can be a good boy and make some room for me? Just sit up a bit.”

“Fuck. Yeah, ‘kay.” Luke nods quickly, so eager to please, letting go of his dick in favor of shuffling up, sitting halfway against the arm of the couch. 

With the length of his legs there isn’t much room but it’s enough. 

You’re slammed with a thought so sudden it makes your head throb. Holy shit, this is happening. The nerves have been dormant, though you’ve been well aware of them, resting below the surface of desire that swims in your veins. The one thing you deemed unattainable, dangling like a treat in front of you.

Willing and oh so pliant. 

“Don’t touch,” You tell him, his hand quivering on his abdomen. Fingers itching to get ahold of himself again, cock kicking against his stomach. You don’t bother kicking off your shoes or discarding any clothes – that’s all part of the scene, the power imbalance between yourself and Luke. With him exposed like this, with you covered up. It sends warmth pooling between your thighs. 

Your knees sink into the couch between his splayed thighs, guiding one down so that his foot rests flat on the floor, giving you more room. Luke’s hips shift at your simple touch, so featherlight, cool fingers on hot, flushed skin. “You’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing.” 

“Y/N,” He moans softly. God, it sounds so heavenly.

“It’s funny,” You continue, letting your eyes wander, but not touching. Keeping your hands from feeling him in every way you’ve been thinking about for so long. “You talk this big game, that you call the shots. With those big shoulders and big hands, oh I’m sure you could hold me down and do whatever you’d like. And yet, you’re desperate for me to tell you what to do. How funny is that?”

With every demeaning little quip from you, Luke’s cock kicks out another spurt of pre-cum. It dribbles onto his stomach, sticky and slick. And despite your desire to watch him squirm and beg and not give in, you find yourself wondering how he tastes. 

“Y/N,” He says again, a frenzied tilt to his gravelly voice. “Please, I’m begging. Anything, do anything.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” You hum. “I won’t make you do it, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m dying to get your cock in my mouth.”

Luke’s face screws up, as if he’s fighting the urge to cum right there. Stomach tensed, cock flushed red and oh so hard against his stomach. He’s so beautiful. 

Carefully, you take him into your hand. He’s velvety smooth and warm, veins tensing beneath your hold. Slick at the tip, so inviting. Something akin to a squeaky, broken moan escapes him. “Yeah? You’d like that?”

“Please,” He almost slurs. “Please, Y/N. Please.”

“So polite,” You shuffle closer, warm breath fanning over the tip. You lick tentatively, keeping your eyes on him to see how he reacts. He preens instantly, a muttered yes slipping from his open mouth. “Be a good boy for me. Don’t touch.”

It feels hot in the apartment, video playing on the television drowned out by Luke’s heavy breaths and the blood pounding in your ears. The moment his tip slips past your pretty, slick lips, Luke’s absolutely gone. He’s heavy and desperate on your tongue, pulsing from the sudden heat of it, only fueling you further. Slow movements, not to overwork yourself.

Your hand rests on the base of his cock, while the other plants firmly on his hip to keep him steady. He could overpower you at any point, no doubt, but you believe firmly that he won’t. He likes this too much. Your point is proven when you witness his face crumble, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a fucking dog, desperate. 

You hum around him, letting your throat relax, keeping a consistent pace. Letting him writhe, just barely, below you.

“Y/N,” He pleads brokenly. “I– I’m– I’m not gonna–”

You withdraw from his cock with an obscene, slick pop. “Hm? What’s that?”

“I’m not gonna last long,” He says between breaths. “I swear, I’m not usually like this, I–”

“But you’re so worked up, baby,” You tilt your head, pouting your lips. “It’s alright if you’re a little quick on the trigger tonight. We’ll work on that.”

Instead of working him with your mouth, you gather a decent amount of spit and let it dribble down the length of his cock. Your hand moves slowly, so torturous, feeling every inch of him. “You know what? I’m feeling generous. If you beg me enough, I’ll let you taste me. How about that? You think you can do that?”

“Christ,” Luke mutters, his voice rising in pitch. “Fuck, Y/N. God,” His eyelashes flutter as you work him leisurely. “Please. Fuck, wanna taste you so bad. I’ll be so good, I fuckin– I swear. Won’t– won’t touch. Please, I’d– I’d be so good. So good. Please.”

He’s so debauched. Destroyed, sweat-slicked and persistent. 

“Hm, I don’t know if you want it enough.” You hum.

“I do, I swear,” Luke sounds so broken, like he’s seconds away from cracking entirely. Unable to catch his breath properly, wetness pooling at the corners of his eyes. Exactly what you’re looking for. “Y/N,” Your name sounds like a prayer falling from his mouth. “Please. Let me taste you.”

“That’s better.”

You withdraw from him entirely, and Luke can’t seem to decide if he’s upset about the lack of contact with his dick or excited about the idea of what’s to come. Regardless, you make a slow show of it, unbuttoning your pants and dragging them slowly down your legs. A lustful, yearning shade of navy blue swims in his eyes, as they zero in, hazily, on your thighs.

Your underwear join your pants soon after. “Alright baby, go ahead and lay down for me.”

Resisting the urge to coo in praise when he does exactly as you say, you drink him in one more time before doing as promised. Luke looks thoroughly wrecked, put through the wringer and he hasn’t been given the chance to cum yet. You wonder if he’ll get off to tasting you, but that thought doesn’t last long because you know he will. 

He’s flushed in shades of red, patterned across his pale skin, not easily seen from far away. The blooms look like flowers of all shapes and sizes, and your fingertips graze over his chest and neck. Luke tilts his head up to give access, silent permission, before letting his eyes fall shut when your hand tangles in his sweat-slicked hair. “You want me?” You ask.

“Yes,” Poor boy sounds so used, pent up and ready to burst at any second. Like a gust of wind could float through the apartment and he’d spill all over himself. “God, yes.”

The couch isn’t the biggest but you’re able to get comfortable, settling your thighs on either side of Luke’s head. The heat radiating from his body is delicious, warming you thoroughly. You tug carefully on his hair to draw his eyes open. They flicker to your heat first, then meet yours.

“Don’t touch,” You remind him again, but gentler this time. You can tell his mind is hazy, thoughts likely jumbled and not making a lick of sense. He nods, blinking slowly, tempted to find your heat again. “You’ll get the okay when I’m done, alright?”

Luke nods again. You swear there’s a small dribble of drool in the corner of his mouth.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” You adjust yourself accordingly and Luke doesn’t waste a fraction of a second before his tongue swipes across your cunt, warm and wet, humming in satisfaction at the taste that greets him. You can hear him shuffling beneath you, restraining himself from touching his neglected cock, wishing to clamp his hands around your thighs.

He mouths at you like a man starved, lacking finesse but showing off his greediness, his willingness to please. You can’t judge him too harshly, for you’ve scrambled his brain a good bit. You have time to teach him properly. If he’s interested, that is.

A moan claws its way up your throat with every flick of his tongue, nips of his teeth, his desire to prove he’s worthy enough to have his head between your thighs right now. It’s adorable, you think. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, slowing his frantic movements to guide him, allowing your hips to rock ever so slightly, the friction delicious and eliciting moan after moan from your chest. Perhaps you’re in the same boat as Luke, so pent up so quickly, for your stomach begins to coil with a sharp, electric heat and you know it won’t be long now.

Your toes curl, hips finding their own way, chasing every movement of Luke’s tongue and teeth and lips and everything they’re after. His eyes are wet, mouth hot, and the rubber band finally snaps.

It isn’t intentional but your grip on Luke’s hair is almost lethal, hips forcing downward, the friction of his nose nudging your clit the final nail in the coffin. You let go, allowing your moans and whines and shuddering sighs to fill the apartment alongside the slick sound of Luke’s overeager mouth, receiving your release with pleasure-ridden hums.

“You can touch,” Your brain feels like static, warped and numb. But there’s no movement beneath you, no yearning to get himself off. Instead, Luke’s arms clasp around your thighs and draw you impossibly closer like a madman.

Then, a broken, muffled moan against your heat, vibrating and thrumming beneath your skin. Fingers sinking into your thighs, locking you in place. The overstimulation of Luke’s tongue against you is overwhelming, but you don’t mind it. Not for the sake of what you’re considering the best night of your life.

You lift your hips, pulling at Luke’s hair to detach his greedy mouth, his lips slick with your release, eyes distant and watery and a softer blue.

A glance behind you proves he had gotten off to tasting you. Pearly white ropes decorate his heaving chest and stomach. 

You return your gaze back to him. His eyes have fluttered shut. “You did so good,” You tell him, words almost blurring together from the post-orgasm haze. Your knees cry in agony from the awkward position on the couch, and you relent, climbing off of him and collapsing into a heap of sweaty limbs on the floor. “So good, Luke.”

It feels like an eternity passes, your hearing slowly recuperating and fixating on the video still playing on the television at a low volume. You find the remote and switch it off.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, then, aside from the small stream of moonlight poking through the curtain behind the couch. Enough to make out Luke, still breathing heavily, laying flat. 

“You okay?” You ask quietly.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Luke says into the shadows.

“Luke–” He isn’t thinking clearly. He’s riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, is all. 

“Don’t worry about it now, Y/N,” He says. “We have so much shit to talk about but I’d rather do it tomorrow.”

Your anxiety rears its ugly head. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then?” You don’t get the chance to even attempt to stand before Luke’s hand clasps around your wrist.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He asks, no heat behind his words. 

“To my room, to sleep?”

“Hell no,” Luke scoffs, a light laugh following. “You’re staying in my room tonight, Y/N. And after we talk, I’m getting my mouth on you again.”

You don’t have the energy to quip back at him, to make a joke. Instead, you nod, leaving your abandoned clothes in favor of following Luke to his room. The thought of your dinner still wrapped up on the floor doesn't even cross your mind.