♡ Indulgence ♡

his eyes widened. “it is preposterous that you would even suggest that.”

“how is it preposterous? i’m not asking you to go out in public dressed in women’s clothes. i’d just like to see you… a little bit done-up. i wear makeup all the time for you, why can't you do the same for me?"

“you want to turn your man into a girl? a girlfriend? is that what you’d like?” 

“you’re being ridiculous,” you said, standing up from the vanity stool. you sat down beside him on the bed, cautiously so that your nightgown wouldn’t ride up.

he opened his mouth to protest again, but he found himself unable to speak. how could he refuse you? perfumed, lovely you, with your exposed neck and low-cut dress? you, gesturing at him to sit up, while climbing onto his lap at the same time? 

“if that’s what the missus wants,” he choked out at last. 

“that is indeed what the missus wants. how shall I do this? apply the lipstick directly onto your lips, or…?” you palmed at his face, holding him lightly by the chin. you raised his face upwards and moved your grip lower onto his jaw before dabbing the lipstick onto his lips. 

you were awfully close to him. was “awfully” the correct word? it was a deeply enjoyable experience. he let himself wrap an arm around your waist so you could sit down comfortably. 

“oh, dear,” you mumbled. “i’ve put too much on. you look ridiculous.” 

“take some off, then.” 

“would you mind?” you asked, peering into his eyes. 

he nodded, expecting you to grab a napkin or use the back of your hand to wipe the rouge off. instead, you leaned in even closer, lining up your lips with his. before he could react, your lips pressed against each other. 

you pulled away to look at your masterpiece. “it looks good now. that’s a nice color on you. you should wear it more.” 

“w-what?” 

"in that same Vogue article I was talking about,” you continued, almost as if you didn’t realize how breathless he was, the way his chest rose and fell, his grip around your waist as he tried to keep his head from spinning, “they talk about matching your lips to your cheeks.” 

you applied a fresh layer to your lips before pecking him on the cheeks. and thus the activity continued, a lip stain on the bridge of his nose, two on his forehead – you found that quite amusing – and one on the jaw. the last one felt incredibly intimate to him, but then again, so did everything. 

“may I do the same to you?” he asked. “cover you in kisses, i mean?” 

you shrugged and passed the lipstick tube to him. hesitatingly – the idea of wearing lipstick felt quite odd to him, still, but he was getting used to the idea – he darkened his lips. he dropped the lipstick on the bedcovers and pressed his lips against your neck. 

this kiss lingered much longer than any of yours had. he scarcely paused to admire his work before leaning in for another one. and another. and another. a quick one on each of your shoulders.  

“how can i forget the most important part?” he asked, raising his head. “may I kiss you?” 

“have you not been doing that this whole time?” 

“i meant on the lips.” 

"Please don't tease me," you lament. "I'm pathetic, I know."

Amusement taints his voice, "I didn't say that."

"No, but you're thinking it."

"Not at all." His voice dips to a place so unfairly seductive that it doesn't help your current predicament. "Hey?" He ducks his head, trying to meet your eyes. "Can you be honest with me, sugar? Are you wet?"

You nod, burying your face in your hands.

Being near him was impossible. You were bound to be ruined when he finally gave you more than a little peck. That's all it's been for ages - he didn't even kiss your cheek until the second date! And in the privacy of his apartment - on his couch - with his mouth doing sinful things against yours, you're powerless against the budding need blossoming between your thighs.

Wilbur swears under his breath.

"Yeah?" He all-but chuckles, but there's more to it - a rasp you've only dared to imagine when you're alone with your lecherous thoughts. "It's okay, sweetheart, we can take a break."

A whine peels out of you, without your consent, and that time he does laugh.

"What?"

"You need to stop being so - so ..."

"So...?"

"Hot."

Wilbur blinks, then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I'm sorry," he says. Wilbur rests his arm against the back of the couch. "You're making things pretty hard, too."

You peek through your fingers, perverted as you are, but that's exactly what Wilbur wanted. He tips your chin up, clicking his tongue. His lenses are a little foggy.

"Now who's being unfair?" he chides.

You gulp. The topic of sex rarely came up, aside from a few lewd jokes here and there. You always assumed it would come up naturally - no point in forcing something as sensitive as this, right?

But, fuck, you were sensitive. Your sex pulsed, the pang made even worse as Wilbur's are you wet? played on loop in your mind. You are wet. Devistatingly drenched, if you're honest. And witnessing Wilbur's erection, so plainly printed against his pants, caused a fresh wave of arousal to gush into your undies.

"Do you, um ...?" You tuck your hands against your chest, eyes dropping despite Wilbur's command. "Want some help?"

He taps your jaw, and you correct your gaze, meeting those dark brown eyes of his.

"Do you?" he asks.

Breathing turned laborious. You can picture Wilbur's pale hands mapping out your body, gripping flesh, sliding under your waistband, delving into you -

Too much. Wilbur smells divine this close, and his body is warm and solid and perfect beside yours. You're practically shaking when you answer him.

"Y-Yeah."

He strokes your knee, slotting his other hand with yours. Your foreheads were practically touching. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want."

Wilbur shakes his head. "If you can't say it, you can't have it."

"Anything," you stammer. "Everything. Whatever would make you happy."

"Lot of things would make me happy, sugar," Wilbur murmurs, "but that's not what you want. Now that I've got you, I don't plan to scare you off so soon. I'd be happy if we kept kissing."

"You can't get rid of me, Wil."

"Won't hurt you, either." He sighed, gazing his lips against your cheek. "Not unless you ask me to."

"What, like, you'd spank me?"

You mean it as a joke as you can't picture Wilbur mean, let alone cruel, but instead of denying it his blush deepens.

"If you wanted it."

"Oh."

Your skin tingles, imagining those broad hands of his slamming against your ass ... wrapped around your throat ... God, you're getting even more pathetic by the second. You clench your thighs and pray that Wilbur would take pity on you. Ravish me, damnit! you want to scream, but your vocal chords seize up. Your lower lip quivers. It's no secret that Wilbur was your first real boyfriend, and like you said before, he's hot. Whatever boldness you might have eked out earlier diminished into nothing but air. You always thought when you got to this point that you would be able to sit tall and seduce him, maybe throw in a saucy roll of the shoulders or teasing hair twirl. Yet, here you are, staring down the beast and all you feel is fear. Not of Wilbur, but of yourself. What if you're not good enough? What if you suggest something he doesn't like? What if he gets turned off?

"You're so pretty, baby," he says, quieting the voices in your head. "Let's save this for another time, okay?"

"B-But-"

Wilbur arches an eyebrow.

"You're not going to leave me like this, right?" you ask. Frustration and desperation are an ugly, poisonous concoction.

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. "No, baby, I won't." He kisses you slowly, pulling away before you devour him. "We'll take it slow, okay? Climb in my lap?"

You mutter something about not wanting to crush him and Wilbur shushes you. He pulls you by your belt loops into his lap, situating your two trembling thighs how he wants them, 'til your straddling one of his legs.

"Please?"