So you’re sitting with him on his bed at Saltburn, reading, and Felix is trying so hard to concentrate, but he keeps chewing the end of your pen. Or the inside of his cheek. Or the string on his jumper. Or the ring on his finger.

And of course you’re going to tease him.

“Do you ever sit still?”

And he just blushes (Felix does blush, he’s not immune) and mutters, “I’m trying, but you’re making it very… difficult.”

You’re still sitting on the bed, flipping a page, not even noticing his energy until he suddenly slides off his chair and sits on the floor in front of you, resting his arms on your knees, chin tilted up to meet your eyes.

And somehow still dominant because it’s Felix and he could command a room from the floor.

He looks up at you with those soft, stormy eyes and says, half-whining, half-charming. “Please let me take care of you. I need to do something. Anything. I can’t just sit here.”

His hands are warm on your knees and his chin rests between them. He looks like he’d worship the ground you walk on without a second thought.

You whisper, “baby.” While raking your fingers through his hair as he’s placing kisses to your knees and your thighs.

“I’m not asking for permission.” He smirks before he’s pushing you back onto the bed, body heavy against yours as he’s peppering you with sloppy kisses and praises.

Then he’s between your legs. “I’m just telling you that tonight? My home is right here.” Before he’s delving in with a sloppy, hot mouth.

He’s just a boy who loves you so much it spills out of him in little uncontrollable habits.

Your fingers are in his hair, gripping and pulling and he’s obsessed with moments like these. He’s obsessed with how you squirm under him. He’s obsessed with how you make a mess all over his face. He’s obsessed with it all.

“Look at me, love. Yeah—just like that.” As he’s teasing you with his fingers. Heavy eyes watching you as his chest is falling up and down erratically.