cecil stedman x female!reader. ns4w. smut. no gender/prns mentioned. short fic. smoking. pet-names. reverse cowgirl. cream pie. r calls cecil “cece”. this is kinda dirty.
a/n: guys i might be an old man fucker😭😭 pray for me
masterlist
*
Cecil…Cecil is not quite sure how he has found himself in this position.
It’s all a blur really. A flash. A blink in time. An artificial warp of reality.
One minute, you’re innocently inviting him into your house for coffee. Cecil wonders for brief moment why you or himself would be drinking coffee so late at night, but he accepts your invite. He assumed he wouldn’t be here for long anyway.
Then you two get to talking; work, the “superheroes”, the goddamn weather, anything you get your mind to.
A cup of coffee turns into a glass of wine.
Then two. Three.
You two were sitting far too close to one another for it to be considered “professional”.
Bare, short-clad knees brushing against his dark-coloured cotton suit that looks far too expensive for someone like him. He lost his suit jacket and loosened his red tie as soon as you poured him his second glass of wine.
Cecil isn’t usually so lax, so accepting of offers like house invitations and wine, but he figures it’s been a long week, an even longer year and that he deserves a break no matter how short it will last.
“Debbie just doesn’t understand.” Cecil sighs, downing the rest of his wine. It takes the weight of the world off his shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt her. Or Mark, or Oliver. They just don’t-“” He sighs, “They just don’t get it.”
“I know, Cece.” Your head buzzed so much that you don’t even remember placing your hand on his shoulder. “They don’t live in our world. They don’t under…understand the sacrifice. They think you’re evil but you’re not. I know you’re not evil.”
Cecil is staring at you now, rusty-blue irises filling your vision like the ocean, ivory eyelashes frost around them. His eyes are glassy.
“You believe that?”
Your face is too close to his now. You take your hand in his large one.
“You’re a good man, Cecil. I believe that."
Cecil's gaze flickers down to where your two hands are connected then back to you again. He gulps. It follows the swipe of your tongue over your lips like a moth to a flame. He hears your breath hitch.
"Cece..."
You eye the mangled skin of his lip. Then your own lips find them.
At first he doesn't respond. He's frozen in his spot on your couch, hand flopping limply in your own.
Cecil seems to be snapped back into his senses when you pull back, apologising viciously, offering him a way out, far, far away from the mess you have conjured up from the sinful movement of your lips.
He quickly puts a stop to that babble with his own lips.
He should not have done that. He should not have done that.
But God, your lips were so soft. You were so responsive and enthusiastic to his touch, a feeling he hasn't felt in over a decade. So sue him for breaking his own rules for once in his shit life.
You both stumble to your bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes (mainly yours) in the wake. You’re pushing him onto your plush sheets. The fly to his pants are down.
It’s a whirl. He’s blinded by it all - your body, your hands, your lips, your breath - it’s all too much and not near enough.
That’s how he finds himself in this position - lying on your bed, his shirt unbuttoned and pants down to his ankles, with you bouncing up and down on his dick.
You’ve already came twice, courtesy of his mouth and length. You seem to be returning the favour judging by the ferocity of your hips.
Cecil can’t take his eyes away from where you both meet - your wet folds leave strings of gossamer with every desperate rise and fall of your bounces, and your gorgeous ass ripples and shines with each movement.
This was it. This is what kills him.
If someone five years ago had told him that he’d be fucking his most attractive coworker, he wouldn’t have believed it. Gone were the days that he could have some sort of freedom in his life, any dream of relaxation was just that; a dream. Fantasies that will never come into fruition.
But Cecil guesses he was wrong.
“Oh, oh fuck.” He curses. His stomach clenches. “Fuck.”
Cecil’s hand grips one of your soft, pert cheeks in his hand. You arch into the contact.
“Cece…Cece, are you gonna cum?”
You really were trying to kill him.
The visual of your coy face peering back at him over your shoulder, the rotations of your ass, and most importantly, the way your hot, seeping tight cunt swallows his cock so tightly that you may have gifted him with a small experience of the heaven he will never face.
“Don’t say that shit.”
You giggle. You fucking giggle.
“I’m just saying,” - you cut yourself off with a loud moan - “I’m just saying tha-that you can cum inside of me.”
An animalistic growl spews from Cecil’s mouth as his grip turns into searing iron on your hips.
“Don’t say that shit.”
“‘M serious, you can.” As if to emphasise your point, you switch on an ecstatic pace with your hips, rotating yourself on his cock like a cog in a wheel. Quick and precise. You can feel your own wetness dripping down his cock.
Cecil didn’t stand a chance.
Not with the way you moved or the sounds that kept pouring out of your mouth or the smooth tilts and curves of your supple body.
His heavy balls draw up tight. His head is thrown back. His hips buck up once, twice, thrice-
“Oh shit, fuck, fuck, get off- fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m fucking-“”
He erupts inside of you with a tremulous groan, one that echoes throughout your quaint room. His cock spurts rope after rope of sticky seed inside of your walls, more than you knew a man his age was capable of giving. His hands remain of your still-moving hips, slowing you down just a little. He wanted a break, not to be a victim of an accidental murder.
You hum, biting your lip at how full you are. Planting your hands on the bed, you raise yourself off his dick. Cecil hisses at the cool air hitting his now flaccid member. You wiggle your hips.
Cecil sees what you’re drawing his attention to - his cum, his cum that is seeping around and from your velvet, glistening walls. If he had the energy he did twenty years ago, this would’ve called for a round two.
“Jesus.” He spits, the bite mellowed out by his fatigue. “You’re fucking greedy, aren’t you?”
You laugh at him. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”
You clamber off his lap, sweaty, sheen and sly as fox you crawl up to his side. Your rouge-bitten lips find solace on his clear neck, a neck in desperate need of some dark love bites.
Cecil reaches into his trousers that are still hooked around his ankles. He pulls out his lighter and a cigarette. He lights it.
“I’m getting too old for this shit, kid.”
*
a/n: cecil fuckers unite? 🩷
