i don’t pay rent here

“Wow. I can’t believe… I’m looking at myself…? Dude, this is” He lets out a high-pitched giggle and covers his mouth. “This is fucking insane. So trippy. How do we address each other? Okay, for simplicity, I’ll call you Lando. You call me Norris. Sup Norris! Shit, it’s weird saying my own name out loud to… well, myself. ” 

They’re sitting close across from each other on a vast, empty floor. He reaches out his hand. Still smiling wide in disbelief. His other half also reaches out, eyes wide. His other half is slow and cautious. Lando keeps talking.

“Norris…Norris…” He giggles again brightly. “I can’t even comprehend this, like this can’t be real. Is someone playing a trick on me or something?” He lets out an exasperated breath. “How similar even are we? Do you suppose everything about our bodies is the same? Are you still digesting the pizza I ate yesterday? I mean, okay. Wait— okay, okay. Let’s see if we’re thinking the same thing. Favorite color? No. Favorite food? Wait, no, let me ask something deeper. Okay, biggest regret?”

The other lando contorts his lips into an upward crescent. He pries his mouth open, and words slip out through his teeth. 

“Well, haha. Let’s see. You mean in terms of life? Career? Love?” He tilts his head sideways.

“Anything. The biggest one.” He takes a second to think, as if to dig deep into his psyche. 

The upward concaving crescent that he passed off as a sincere smile started to loosen. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if joining F1 was right. I mean, it’s my whole life. I want to know what else I could accomplish if I didn’t focus all my time on this. Training, strategy, the lying… I wish sometimes that my life wasn’t that much of a performance all the time. All the interviews. All the press coverage. My ‘friends’ and acquaintances. The people taking an inch and running a mile, and I just have to pretend it doesn’t affect me. Well, but I suppose you know all that already.”

Lando is taken aback; his smile drops. He didn’t expect to be called out like that this fast into the conversation.

“I feel a bit stupid for thinking about my botched golf match last week.” He pauses, bites his lip, kind of impressed with himself. “I’ve never vocalized that to anyone. Not even… hah, myself. I’m pretty proud of me!” He squints his eyes in a bright smile. He stretched his lips apart so hard that it felt painful.

Norris scoffs and insults himself under his breath.

Nothing is spoken for a minute.

Norris is smiling at the floor. He looks amused. Lando just stares at his head. Norris rubs the back of his neck, running his hand up to the top of his head, and starts to dig his nails into his scalp to pick out strands of hair. His other half presses the back of his hand on his forehead—almost trying to check his temperature to see if he has a fever and is imagining everything. 

Another moment of silence passes.

“Mate, I was only trying to look at the bright side. At least we’re man enough to admit it—”

“You didn’t do shit. You’re not admitting anything. Look me in my eyes and tell me you really think you believe that you think you’re happy with yourself. I realize it now. Just looking at myself, I’m so disgusted. You’re so fake, I can’t believe people buy into this bullshit facade. People only like you because of…of what? Your looks? Your fake persona? Your career..? I know you’re not satisfied. I think…I think you don’t deserve any of it.”

Norris’s voice is rising. He can’t even look himself in the eyes, which contradicts himself. Which actually proves his point. He is miserable. He hates himself. He finally said it out loud.

“You know, at least you admitted it to yourself. Even if you can’t come clean to anyone else.”

Norris scoffs again. Lando keeps staring at the back of his neck.

“Admitting it to myself doesn’t mean shit, jackass.” He can’t bring himself to say his own name. “It only matters if I admit it to someone who matters. To someone of substance. You mean nothing to me.” His voice lowers. “It’s like talking to a fucking pillow, but at least a pillow can absorb my scream. Screaming at you just reflects right back onto me.”

Norris is huffing, and his eyes have turned red. He still refuses to look at himself.

“I fucking hate you.”

Lando keeps his eyes on himself. He takes a deep, shaky breath. 

“Well, mate, that’s convenient. Because I happen to hate you, too.” A forced, breathy laugh leaves his lungs as he says this.

Norris is still looking at the floor, memorizing the grooves of the wood tiles and how they get glazed with his tears. He starts again.

“So fucking full of yourself. A part of you is doing it for the act, but I think you actually are in love with yourself sometimes. Maybe you hate yourself so much that you’ve deluded it to be confidence. As if you could cover up your hatred with this bullshit ego. Everyone can tell. You’re not even fooling yourself.”

Despite the anger and the tantrum, he is hysterical. This is therapeutic, almost. To verbalize his hatred to the one that he hated. 

“And the funniest part is that you somehow still—still hate me. This part of yourself. How can you be so self-obsessed and still hate yourself at the same time? All you do is hurt the others around you while you try to achieve hypotheticals. Being fucking realistic, mate. Not even I believe in you. So, if you still choose to ignore me, then blink twice. I am fucking real. Acknowledge me, damn it. Why can’t you just… embrace it for once? This feeling. I want it to embody you. I deserve it—you deserve it. You deserve to let the hatred, the disgust, the sadness take over. You fucking deserve it.”

He doesn’t know if he wants the pain to take over as a form of acceptance or in a way where he’s cursing himself to misery. 

Lando puts a hand on his shoulder. Norris looks up in shock, not expecting the physical touch. It’s unwarranted but familiar. Lando takes a hitched breath and starts to speak.

“I’m sorry. I hate you. But I have to love. It’s fake, but I don’t know any other way to approach this. Life. Relationships. Myself. Lying to you is the only way I can love you, but at least in doing so, I can try to grow to appreciate your beauty. Maybe then I can see what others see in you. If I pretend a little more, maybe I’ll start to love you. I want to love you. I want to see what people love about you. And I want you to see it, so, so bad. Because I think you deserve it.”

Lando slides his hand to his neck and holds himself down to earth. He squeezes his neck a little, gauging if he’s still alive. He is. What he feels is real. He looks himself in the eyes.

“I hate you. You know I hate you. I will never, never stop hating you. But you deserve a chance at love, or the facade of it. Maybe pretending will make you feel better in the long run. But people can’t love you if you don’t start trying to love yourself first...and you only exist on the love of others. Because you don’t actually love yourself."

He finally takes a good, deep breath.

"I want to feel, but damn it, I’m scared. Scared that if I slip up or show any discontent with myself, everyone else will see it. That they’ll see what I see, and hate me the way I hate you. I’m sorry for hiding. I’m sorry that I hate you. I wish I could love you for real.”

Lando, Norris, Lando Norris are crying. He slowly approaches him and finally lets go of the pressure he had built up. They hold each other. He grips hard at his shirt, trying not to let himself go. He’s holding himself so hard it’s like he’s trying to absorb himself and turn back into one. The grip doesn’t falter after 1, 2, 3 minutes. He sobs into himself. His curls are in his eyes, and so are his tears. He finally let the sadness consume him. He bites his shoulder, and he pulls away from the embrace.

“Ow! Fuck, d-dude. What was that for?”

“Hah. Sorry.” He sniffs and laughs.” I couldn’t help myself. 

Lando’s hand covers the mark he left on his shoulder. He returns the laugh. He looks at himself. 

Norris stares. His red eyes glisten. 

“Do you really think…you could learn to love me?”

He pauses to think and looks away. The silence is an answer. 

“I want to try. I want to see what everyone else sees in you, to see if what they see in you is really there.”

He glides his fingers across his cheek. A tear drips down. 

“Even if it’s superficial. I want to try to understand.”

He reaches for his chest. He slides his open palm down to his stomach from his pecs and then travels back up under his shirt. 

“Maybe it’s only because they want to objectify you. Maybe it’s because you’re just a commodity. I still want to see what they see.”

His nails dig into his chest.

“I want to be better. For us, for them. How can I be better for them if I don’t even know what they see in me? I need to—fuck—I need to understand why they love me.”

His other hand digs into the side of his thigh.

“I want to understand.”

His whole body shivers. His other hand finds his dick. He slowly plays with himself over the fabric of the shorts. He lets out an involuntary yelp, and he laughs at the noise.

“I don’t remember what happened. I really can’t remember. One moment I was in her house, and then I only remember waking up episodically…? Like I’d close my eyes and open them again just to see that time has passed. First, she gave me a mixed drink. Next, she was on top of me, and I just remember puking all over her couch and calling a car home and then puking again and…” 

The rain outside is fitting for this moment. It’s soft for now, but the sky is dim and makes you feel restless. His least favorite type of climate. Wet, messy, and unorganized. Everything changes because of a little water. He hates organizing himself around something out of his control.

He looks away for a split second to gather his words before he throws them all at you. He’s trying to order and organize them so that he sounds more presentable. He wants not to show weakness or vulnerability. He’s only trying to tell you a story with facts, not with emotion. He’s trying to hand you the best version of himself, despite what happened. He doesn’t want you to look at him any differently. Not like he’s defined by it, no, because he is able to control the narrative and his emotions and his speech to inform you. To prove that he’s not defined by what happened. He’s stronger than what happened to him, he tells himself repeatedly. He’s more than it. 

But it’s hard to look so positively when that was his first time.

“Take your time, Oscar. I’m here for you.”

She’s not calling me Osc anymore, shit, I need to get it together.

“No, it’s okay, really. I just wanted to tell you since you knew her and know other people who know her… y’know?”

God, I have got to stop repeating the same words over and over again. She’s looking at me with such pity—sincere pity, but pity nonetheless. Say something, please.

“I understand, Osc. I’ll tell everyone. I mean, if you’re okay with it? You can remain anonymous? I could also talk to the police, too—”

“No no no, no police. Please. I just can’t let all this get out to the public; everyone in the world is on my ass already. I just want this to end.”

Fuck that sounded more pitiful than I anticipated.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. 

“I just mean I don’t want to make a big deal out of it… y’know…?”

“Yeah, Osc, of course. I understand.”

You are trying your very best to put on a strong face for your best friend. Not to show too much worry because you know how he is with being ‘vulnerable’. It’s a miracle he even told you, and you have to show how much you understand, even if the more you repeat the phrase, the more it seems like it’s shallow and meaningless. You are still trying your best either way. But he knows that you’re trying to pamper him. He just wants… actually, he doesn’t know what he wants out of telling you. Mostly out of not seeing her again, but maybe for a place of comfort. He’s never been in a situation like this before. It’s both the first for you and him to be put in these roles: you the comforter and him the comforted. Whenever you came home from a bad date, an argument with your parents, or a scolding from your boss, he was the one to hold you and tell you it was okay. Now it’s your turn to do something for him.

You put a hand on his knee and rub it. 

He flinches a little, and his breath is thrown off pace.

“Oh god, Oscar, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking, I… shouldn’t have done that.”

You quickly remove it.

Oscar is a proud man. He is not one to just say his feelings and feel better about it. He isn’t one to admit that he was saving his virginity or that he was a virgin at all. For all the years you two have been friends, he has never told you about his feelings for girls (or guys), especially his experience with them. So he doesn’t admit that he didn’t mind your touch, but was just startled because his knee was surprisingly sensitive. He also doesn’t admit that a part of him was disappointed at his first time being taken from him because he was saving it for you.

“No, it’s… fine. I actually am not reacting because of what happened, because I don’t actually remember much from that night. I don’t actually remember any sensations or anything. I just know that it actually happened.

You dumbass, STOP REPEATING YOUR WORDS… Does talking about your feelings and being vulnerable shrink your vocabulary? You dunce, get it together.

You’re still shaken and not sure how to approach him. You know he’s not made of porcelain, but you don’t really know what he’s made of. He wants to act like he's made of steel, but you theorize it’s more like chocolate. Hard at first, but with the right or wrong thing, he melts.

“I’m… I’m still sorry. I honestly don’t know how to comfort you or anything. I don’t know what you want or need. I just want to be here for you, Oscar.”

Your voice trembles a bit, and your eyes sting. You shouldn’t cry in front of him, not when you’re supposed to be strong for him this time. But you can’t help it. You are too empathetic to some degree, some may say. He certainly doesn’t take offense to this, though. It seems like you’re more offended on his behalf.

He’s a bit surprised by how personally you’re taking it. He finds it pretty endearing that you care so much about him. Another reason why he liked you for so long. He doesn’t mind comforting you anyway.

There goes the full name again. I didn’t know she would take it to heart like this, but it feels nice for her to show how much she cares.

He leans over on the couch and hugs you, guiding your head to his shoulder.

You reciprocate and hug him under his arms, rubbing circles against his back. Hoping that it comforts him a little, because whenever you were upset, that was how he would hug you. You keep doing it while trying to discreetly wipe your tears on his shirt.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. She didn’t… hurt me or anything, just… took my virginity is all.”

Your fingers stop circling. You pull away and look in his eyes. You blink at him. He copies you and blinks as well. 

“You’re still a virgin…?”

Shit. I didn’t mean to let that slip. God, why can't I think straight?

“I… uh… yeah. So. That was disheartening. I think a part of me is mostly mad at the situation because it was taken out of my control… y’know?”

“No. That doesn’t count. Virginity is just a social construct; it only ‘counts’ if you say it does. And that doesn’t count.”

“Are you sure that’s how it works?”

“Yes. Nothing is real, and nothing matters… You should take it back! Just reclaim it! Actually, don’t reclaim anything. Because it’s always been intact. It was never taken.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks”

You’re a little proud of making him feel better, but more relieved that he isn’t a mess of words and is starting to mellow down. You noticed his tapping foot while he recounted the story, and you’re just glad he seems a bit more regular.

“So.. how do you feel, Osc?”

I can’t think with the rain outside. I just want a quiet moment to think. Think Oscar, thinkthinkthink…

“I just… realize how pointless this virginity thing is now. I kind of want to get rid of it, just to get it over with. And really experience it. I mean, I’ve been holding onto it for years, and a bad night is what makes me lose it? Or, I mean, theoretically. Cause it’s still mine, as you said before. I just want to do it with someone I trust, so the experience I remember is a good one when I actually lose it. On my own terms.”

Like he has control. In the end, it’s what he wants. Or at least wants to present to you. He wants to show that he’s in control and always has been, even with some inconsistencies where he may show a little vulnerability.

You’re happy for him, though. That he re-found his strength. You tell him exactly that.

“I’m proud of you, Osc. Is there any other way I can help?”

You haven’t the slightest clue in the world.

He looks straight at you, but more intensely. And a little more nervously. You don’t break eye contact, so he looks away first. Half because he was caught up in your eyes and half because, in doing so, his face started to heat up. And he knew that it would lead to a face flushed pink. He didn’t need you to see that. The imperfection. His vulnerability.

“What is it, Osc? You can tell me. Ask me. Ask me anything.”

Her voice is so tender. So soft. So caring. I wonder how soft her… God damn it, I should just ask her.

He turns back to you after taking a deep inhale. He looks at you with determination.

“I was thinking that—I just… I… Gosh, I don’t know how to say this any other way. Look, I care about you, and I can tell you care about me. But with that whole rant about taking back what’s mine and whatever just got me thinking that… Y’know, I wanna reclaim it and whatever so... Can you please take my virginity?”

All his determination and confidence faded as he rambled on. The more he talked, the more his gaze darted around you. The more his eyebrows furrowed, the more his hands fidgeted. The more he stuttered. The more he showed vulnerability.

This is the most embarrassing moment of my life.

He doesn’t ask out of hunger or lust. He asks as a favor, friend to friend. He asks out of love and selfishness, even though he hates to admit it. He still wants control, and he wants you, because you’re the one thing he can’t control. He doesn’t want to control you. But his want for you is undeniable. 

Now you’re the one hiding the blush.

It’s not like you’ve never thought about it. You just never assumed he even thought about you like that. The ever stoic and unreadable man he is, you tried to push the thought back with the hundreds of dates and failed relationships that you tell him about. Almost to prove that there was nothing there. But you've thought about it. Now you know he’s also thought about it. And now you’re both thinking about it at the same time.

“Is that really what you want?”

He turns back to you, no confidence or stoicism left in him. Only vulnerability.

“Yeah.. If, of course, it’s okay with you?”

You smile. The first time you have ever been able to, with your whole heart, say you comforted your best friend and let him put down his guard. 

And then you realize the actual proceedings of the favor. You realize you’re about to take this man’s virginity.

Your smile quickly turns into an empty laugh as you cover your face. 

“Yes, Osc. I would love to.”

He smiled widely, and he relaxed his eyebrows.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit 15-year-old me would be so happy. 

Then he realized what he asked for as well.

He blushes and turns away again, trying to save the last of his dignity. He hides his ridiculously big smile with his hand.

You keep your eyes on him and put your hand on his, which still covers his mouth. He is surprised and opens his eyes wide. You slowly turn him to face you again, hand still on his. He stares into you, and you look into him.

“So, how would you like this to work? Do you want me to take charge… or you could… or we could just see what happens too,” you say in a whisper, “I just want to go with whatever you’d like.”

He is fully red now. Even though it was his idea to suggest this. He still averts your eyes.

“I’d like to start being in control.”

You nod. There is a moment of silence where you can only hear the light rain outside and his heavy breathing, and you both take in that this is really happening. You see each other, and it’s just like anytime you see each other. It’s familiar and comforting, and now it’s also new and exciting.

You still cling to his hand even as he removes it from his mouth. The whole time, neither of you breaks eye contact. 

He reaches for your cheek and pulls you in. The moment your lips touch, it’s like all the tension from before that was still between you two disappears. Like this was the statement needed for you two to break the barrier. 

It starts slow and subtle. But the more you guys are in contact, the deeper the kiss becomes. The more he explores you with his tongue. The more he grips your hand. The more he grips your neck, like he’s scared that if he doesn’t touch you, then he will wake up to this being over. 

You pull away, and he doesn’t even open his eyes for a few seconds, when he realizes that the experience was over. 

“That wasn’t your first kiss… was it?”

Sorry, but I can’t stay THAT loyal to you… My virginity was enough.

“Hah… no… so… can we continue?”

He is clearly impatient and borderline desperate.

You nod again, and he immediately pulls you back in by the back of your neck to kiss you. You are shocked by the suddenness and let out a squeal. He pulls back a little to mumble, “God, that was cute,” and immediately goes back to you. He starts to grip your hair lightly and touch your waist. The more he clings to you, the more you embrace him. You are so close to the point you feel each other’s heat. You try to move closer to him by moving your knee towards him. But in the effort to be closer, your knee brushes against his crotch, where you find that under his shorts, he is already hard.

He had been half hard ever since you touched his knee, and fully hard since he asked you to fuck him.

He groans, almost sounding like he is in agonizing pain. Because it was pretty agonizing. To want you for so many years and have his effort be for waste, he was in agony. To have this be able to happen, he had to have the one thing he could control about you taken away. The control letting you take his virginity was gone. Technically. 

So when you touch his dick accidentally, he lets out a groan that could be classified as a cry right into your mouth.

He holds his breath and releases it as he opens his eyes, where he then looks away from you again

“I-I’m sorry, Osc, I didn’t mean to do that.”

He doesn’t know why he has tears in his eyes. Maybe it was the taking of his virginity. Maybe it was the long-awaited touch that he wanted to feel for years. But either way, he was tearing up, and he didn’t want you to see. He wanted to be in control.

For the love of God, don’t look at me while I’m like this and when you look like that.

So, silently but swiftly, without looking at you to avoid you seeing the tears in his eyes, he picks you up princess style and takes you to the bedroom. The rain starts to pick up, and he chooses not to listen to it. All he wants to focus on is you.

You, with no idea why he did that so randomly, giggle and squeal again—assuming that he was just so excited to fuck you that he had to take you to bed.

He throws you to the middle of the bed and takes off his shirt. In taking off his shirt, he conveniently dries his eyes on the fabric.

You sit up admiring his build and his desperate eyes that only look at you. You keep giggling.

“I apologize if I’m not good at this. I am a virgin after all.” He lets out a hollow half laugh.

“Don’t worry. I can guide you.”

With that, he climbs over you and kisses you once more. This time with eagerness and a lot of haste, like he was done savoring you. This time, he just wanted to feel your reaction to his actions. 

You give him exactly what he wants. You moan into his mouth, and small gasps keep escaping you as he finds his way to your earlobe, then your neck, and your stomach. He traces down while looking up at you with composure and a neediness—a neediness to see if you are enjoying yourself as much as he enjoys looking at you. In one motion, he pulls off your shorts and throws them to the floor.

Fuck I hope she thinks I’m sexy. 

Before he reaches your panties, you shudder. He stops and looks at you intently. You look away out of shyness and bite your finger. You’re not used to seeing your best friend between your legs. Then, he starts to breathe. Heavily. 

You think he’s just teasing you, but he’s not saying anything. He’s not moving either. So you look down, and he’s looking at you while crying.

Tears are streaking down his pink cheeks, and he puts the side of his head on your stomach while gripping your thighs.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Oh, Osc, what’s wrong?”

“I just, I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay, I said I’ll guide you—”

“No. It’s not just that. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. All this time I’ve saved myself… for—for you. Now I get to experience this not because it’s out of love, but pity. And I can’t even say that saving my virginity was worth it because I lost it to some random girl I met twice. Saving it is the reason we are here right now, but being here right now is not the reason I’m not a virgin. I just… this thing has fucked me up. I didn’t want you to see this, how imperfect I am. A part of me was denying it so much that I didn’t know I really was this imperfect. But I thought I was perfect enough for you. I thought I had control. Now I have nothing. I don’t have control over my life, and I’m scared that I won’t have you either. I don’t know how to keep you, to make you happy, to please you. I don’t know what to do. Please, just tell me what to do.”

How am I the most articulate when I’m this pathetic?

You sit up on your elbows. He is lightly hiccuping and burying his eyes in your thighs. Each sentence ends with a shaky breath and more tears. You are stunned and not sure how to proceed.

“Oscar…”

“No. Don’t say that. Just call me Osc. Please.”

“...Osc. I can’t change your mind on how you view this, but you are more than just your virginity. I am here because I love you. I love you enough to care about you and to help you. But this isn’t just about helping you, I’m here because I want you. I want to feel good, and I want you to make me feel good. I just want this to be a good experience for you—for both of us. You’re allowed to show your imperfections. It doesn’t make me want you any less.”

You cup his cheek and turn him towards you. He hides half his face in your hand, closes his eyes, and rubs his face against you like a cat. 

He looks back up at you.

“You know, I love it when your cheeks get flushed like this. I even like how your eyes look red and sleepy.”

His leaks at that proclamation.

“I’m not leaving you anytime soon, Osc. I love you. Now let me lead.”

He is silently watching and waiting. His eyes produce more tears than you see as they drop down his cheeks. A proof of his comfort. You guide him towards your core.

“Put your hand right there, and rub it just like this.”

“Yes, love…”

Your hand is over his as you teach him how to find your clit and how to rub it exactly how you like. The friction of his thick hands over your panties makes you muffle a moan. That causes him to exhale right onto your pussy, adding to the stimulation. 

“Am I doing it right?”

“Yes, just like that—oh god. You’re doing so well, you’re learning so quickly.”

He whimpers at the praise. Purely from praise. Without touching himself or receiving anything, he whimpers solely because of your words. He’s still crying, but softer. With affection. With pleasure and restraint, as his cock twitched against the hem of his pants.

You pull your panties to the side and guide his hand to your entrance. You hold his hand and motion him to slightly trace the lining of your pussy, and by making contact, you let out a soft moan.

“You sound so good. And you smell even better. Please, how can I taste you?”

“Put your fingers in first.”

He sinks one finger slowly.

“Yes… Now add another.”

He does as he is told.

“Turn your hand so your palm faces up, and curl your fingers like this—oh my god, Osc, yes, just like that. Now pulse it back and forth, just like that. You’re doing so well. You’re making me feel so good… so good… oh god…”

You start to mumble as your words trace off. Your hand is gripping his wrist as you feel the buildup of pleasure. He finds a steady rhythm, but goes faster every time you let out any noise. The whole time, he looks up at you with admiration and wet eyelashes.

“Please… please can I taste you?”

“Yes… put your—ngh… your mouth to my… my clit…”

He does as he is told.

Then, and only then, does he stop crying. The pathetic-ness from his eyes fades and is replaced by sheer focus and lust. He sucks on it and keeps the rhythm of his hand. You reach for his hair and grip it to release the pleasure you don’t know where else to store.

“No, just… lick it in circles. Like how you did with your fingers.”

He does as he is told.

His eyes don’t falter. He does not look away from you anymore, no matter how red his cheeks and ears get. He keeps his gaze only on your face. 

He circles your clit and smiles after hearing your moans progress louder and messier, knowing you can’t control them anymore. You keep whispering nonsense, trying to say something that comforts him and praises him, but it falls through. But he knows your efforts. And he enjoys seeing you be undone by him while trying to be the one who comforts him. 

You feel nothing but heat from your pussy and are pushed to the brink, which he clearly sees because he can feel you tighten around him. And by the fact that your hips are pushing into his mouth. He does not stop smiling, and he does not stop looking at you as you are undone. 

You cum, and it is messy. It is everywhere, all over his mouth and the fresh sheets. And you don’t stop squirming and cumming. But he doesn’t care. He keeps going and licking you like it’s his reward.

All I want is this. All I want is her.

“Osc… I can’t… God please…”

“Oh, but you can. Let me do this for you.”

I’m so hard it hurts. It genuinely feels like I’m going to die if I don’t keep making her shake like that. Seeing her, feeling her…tasting her under me… god, I can’t get enough. This is exactly what I need.

And the dance between you and him continues. He is rougher and straight to the point this time. He doesn’t just savor your taste, but he has a goal now, and it is only to please you this time. More and more, he groans into your cunt, watching you unravel and succumb to his doing. He knows his effect on you. You are screaming his name because of him. Cumming because of him. You feel good because of him. And he revels in this pleasure—your pleasure, which subsequently becomes his pleasure.

“You look great. I love seeing you like this, squirming like this because of me. God, you’re beautiful. I just can’t help myself. I can’t help but want to do this to you.”

He sings your praises almost incomprehensibly, as he still is focused on stimulating you with his mouth. But the vibrations of his words make you feel good either way.

You cum again and pull his hair hard, this time not as much because you were drained the first time. Your walls squeeze around him fast and tight. Your legs shake and squeeze his head tight, not letting go until your walls pulse a little slower. He is reluctant to stop when you eventually let go of him with your legs.

You take a moment to take a breath, but he takes a moment to watch you more, resting his head on your stomach again. He crawls over you and tries to kiss you, but you put your hands on his shoulder and push him over, where he lies on his back. You slowly climb on top of him while gauging his reaction. He is startled—and even a little turned on—by the sudden action. 

“Whoa, what— what are you doing?”

He tries to suppress his excitement. 

“It’s my turn to make you feel good.”

“You already are.”

You giggle and plant a kiss on his pink cheeks. You lift his shirt to plant kisses on his nipples as well. What comes out of him is a moan that makes his voice crack and you wet.

“Sorry I— I had no idea I could even make a noise like that…”

You move closer to his chest. 

“Don’t be. That was hot.”

You trace your tongue around his nipple, and he involuntarily grinds against your thigh while moaning your name loudly and without shame. Your hand traces down to his cock, and you glide your knuckles across the base lightly up and down above the fabric. He inhales sharply and lets out a broken cry. 

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”

Tears start to fall again while he grips onto the sheets and turns his head to the pillow, squirming uncontrollably just like he had you seconds before. The overstimulation drives him insane.

You trace your fingers up and down his dick, higher, until you start to rub his dick over his shorts.

“Please take them off… Please…”

You keep rubbing over his shorts and look at him with a smile on your face. How could you not be proud of yourself when he’s crying over the pleasure you’re giving him?

He keeps crying. Moaning, inconsistent pleas to take his pants off, and compliments about how good you make him feel already. All while tears still fall onto the pillow under him. 

You decide to be nice and pull his shorts and boxers all the way off, revealing the dick that you made hard and leak with pre-cum. 

You crawl back on him to continue stimulating his nipples while your hands reach down. First, you grasp his base and slide up and down, with every stroke making him moan and jolt more than he already is from your tongue. Maintaining a constant speed, you reach for his tip again—only grazing it with your thumb.

“Fuck— you’re making me… hah… too good…”

You keep rubbing circles over his tip with one hand, and with the other, you find his balls.

“Oh my god, what are you… What are— what are you doing?”

He can barely even form coherent sentences because of how you play with him.

With one hand on his balls, you rub them together with a firm grasp, all while the other hand has progressed to stroking him up and down.

He can’t even think of praising you anymore. He can’t think at all. Just this was enough to make him go non-verbal, except for the noises he keeps making. But he still manages to look at you as you remove your mouth from his chest. He watches as you make your way down to your hands, and you marvel at the sight of his wet eyes and damp cheeks. 

He’s now thrusting sloppily into your hand as it still holds onto his cock. You then lean down and put your face next to it. He nearly comes from the sight alone. He doesn’t expect you to put your mouth over his tip. He closes his eyes and relaxes into the sensation. You. Your hand rubbing his balls, stroking his base, and sucking his tip. It’s too much for him to handle. You know how much he likes it because he is restless. His hips keep thrusting, and his torso is squirming around. His hands are covering his face because he’s trying to muffle his moans. Before he can even warn you, he lets out a groan that was buried inside his chest, reaches his hands to grip your hair, and then releases what he’s been holding back ever since you started touching his knee. All in your mouth.

“Sorry, Sorry… I’m so— I’m so sorry… Sorry…”

He says he’s sorry over and over, but it keeps coming out. It keeps leaking and hitting the roof of your mouth, 

You swallow and lick your lips. He whimpers as his sobbing turns to a second form of release, an emotional buildup that he didn’t realize needed to come out. The rain is insisting, but you don’t mind, and neither does he. He is enveloped in the downpour, and this time it comforts him. He can’t control the weather, but he can learn to enjoy it. So he listens. And then he smiles. And he laughs. And it continues raining.

You don’t even have to ask him if he’s alright, because it seems like he’s doing just fine.

He pulls you towards him with his hand by your chin and gives you a long kiss before guiding your hips onto his still-hard cock. He is the one guiding you this time by gently moving your hips back and forth on the base of his dick with one hand on each side of your hips. It’s a careful and choreographed dance that needs no spoken words for you two to participate in. Like you understand exactly what you two need from each other.

You lean back and steady yourself by placing a hand on his knee, which causes him to flinch and moan. You start to rub circles on it, and he continues to whimper.

“Hah… fuck I didn’t know I was so sensitive there.”

You stop drawing circles on his knee with your thumb as you are lost in the stimulation of you grinding on top of him.

He studies your expression, and it causes you to look away and cover your mouth. He removes one hand from your hip and puts it over yours, pushing your face to turn back to him. Mimicking what you did to him back on the couches. He does this all while he still guides you through your movements. 

“I don’t want you to look away. I want to see you. I want to know you enjoy this as much as I do. Please, you look beautiful.”

You blush and shake a little at the comment. You reposition your hands to reach under his neck and brace for a hug, and close the space between the two of you completely. You bury your head against his chest as you lift yourself slightly to insert him into you. Your rub his tip along your pussy and stop right at your entrance. He lets out a breathy moan and starts to pick up his breathing speed.

“Should I continue?”

“YES— yes, yes. Please. Keep going.”

You push him inside, which wasn’t a hard task with how wet you were with his saliva, your own slick from seeing him become undone beneath you, as well as your saliva from the reason why he became undone beneath you. 

You both gasp with hitched breath, but he takes it harder. His already red eyes start to close, but he only squints, keeping them just open enough to continue watching you. He bites his lips together in an attempt to stay quiet—which fails as he whimpers repeatedly—while simultaneously digging into your hips to ground himself. That causes you to moan and him to dig his fingers even deeper into your skin. All while only the tip was in.

You go back to cradling him, then slowly take it deeper and deeper, watching him carefully to see how he reacts. He shows you nothing but pleasure. You stay still for a second after fully enveloping him. He unfurls his lips, and with his squinted eyes, you barely see his eyes roll back, but you catch it. And you see more tears fall. Without thinking, you lick the droplet from his cheek while following the path that it leads. He gasps, and you feel him twitch inside you.

It makes you giggle, and you plant a soft kiss on where your tongue started, where you then slowly start to move.

With each rise and fall, his chest does the same. With your head right on it, you feel his faulty breath and the vibrations from his moans. It only makes you want to go faster. He’s babbling nonsensical compliments again while squirming and moaning. His hips start to match your pace, as if it were second nature to him. All he could think about was how good you felt and how he needed more. So with his hands that are still on your hips, he stops being passive and instead starts to move you up and down again—taking control of the pace and depth. He matches the collision of your bodies with a faster rhythm, causing you to involuntarily call out his name over and over. The slamming of your two bodies causes your clit to feel the impact against his lower stomach. Every time he pushes you two to collide against each other, the more you feel blunt pleasure hitting your clit, and the deeper he reaches into you. You two only hear each other’s involuntary noises at this point. All you two can think about is how good it feels. So he doesn’t stop. He keeps doing what he wants with you. Faster, harder, and more desperate. 

You squeeze him harder and harder, both with your arms around him and also with your walls that surround his dick. He feels it as much as you do, which makes him sloppy. He gets rougher but slower, pushing all of himself into you. You scream before cumming all over him again, where he then follows by pushing you all the way down on him and releasing into you. He tilts his head back and lets out your name. He reaches both his arms around your waist and squeezes you. You two stay still for a while with him still in you. You hear only each other’s panting breath as the rain stops. He whispers your name over and over again, like those syllables are the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, and for him not to keep it on his tongue would mean that he would forget your taste forever. 

A wave of silence washes over.

“I love you, Osc.”

You break the silence. Not because it was uncomfortable, but you felt as if you held that sentence in any longer, you would explode. 

He smiles.