love hate relationship with tumblr

the wine bottle is only half empty, but room already feels warmer and you’re snorting between laughs.

“i’m serious!” bachira insists, pulling you back by your shoulder so he can continue his story before you topple off the couch cry laughing. “it’s the first time anyone has ever flashed me!”

“you sound like you were waiting for this moment.” you sniffle back tears, still giggling as you reach for your wine glass.

“i wasn’t- but it was awesome!” bachira also gulps down the last of his wine before hastily setting his glass down clearing his throat. “alright, picture this- you’re me, right? i got the goal in, crowd’s cheering, my teammates are jumping all over me-“

you hum, watching him over the rim of your cup. it strikes you how cute he looks moving and gesturing around like a child describing a dream. you wanna reach over and pinch is cheek but decide against it. it’s the wine talking louder than usual and bachira would move to bite your hand anyway.

“then i’m making my way across the stands, waving at my adoring fans when this lady just-“ he excitedly grabs the bottom of his shirt and lifts over his chest, mimicking what happened during his match. for a split second, you forget what you’re even talking about. for the cuteness and boyish charm bachira has with his baby face, his body is the exact opposite. cut and defined, trained for durability on the soccer field. and really, really sexy.

it’s when bachira continues talking that you realize you’re staring down at where the line of his hips dip into his sweats. your eyes immediately snap back up to his face and you keep drinking to not let you focus drift back down.

“my name on her chest and two little stars covering her nipples! and her boobs were huge!” he moves his hands in a wide curve over his chest to get his point across and it makes you laugh all over again. “it honestly made my night. i gave it my all that day.”

you roll your eyes despite your giggles. stretching until you’re lounged back on your couch and lifting your legs up onto bachira’s lap. “you always have the craziest stories about your fans.”

your best friend chuckles as he nods along. “my pr team won’t even let me check social media until this whole thing stops trending.”

“they don’t want your ego getting any bigger.”

at that, bachira’s smile turns sly, and the third realization of the night is that your friend looks even more attractive when he drops his cute act. damn wine…

“i was just gonna say thank you to my fans.”

“that’ll encourage her and others to do that more! you just want a stadium full of woman showing you their tits, you dog-“ you aim to kick at his arm. bachira catches you before you can make contact and you squeal at his grip around your ankle, spurring another laughing fit between the two of you while you try to wrestle your leg away.

“what about you, huh?” he wins by tugging you forward, dragging all of you on the sofa until the back of your thighs hit the side of his leg. “when are you gonna flash me your boobs? i’ll get you a front row seat to make sure i see it.”

you must’ve drank too much tonight because you think you see bachira’s eyes dart down to your your chest, to where your tank top sits low and shows the start of cleavage (his hand even twitches up your knee before he stops himself). considering how you were nearly drooling over his abs a few minutes ago, you can forgive your friend for staring down your top just this one time and mentally call it even.

“you already get me front row seats, dummy-“ you shove his face away.

“and i don’t even get to see a little bit of underboob? you’re the worst friend ever.”

you just shake your head at his dramatic sniffing to sell his sulking. hooking your legs better on his lap, you lean in to rest your forehead on his shoulder. it’s sturdy like the rest of him and warm under his clothes, grounding you just as the alcohol starts making your mind swim and swirl. it makes you melt into bachira with a sigh.

“i am a bad friend tho. i haven’t been able to go watch you play.”

“awn. it’s okay. i’m always traveling anyway. took this downtime to come and see my favorite girl.”

you lift your head up to squint at bachira, just in time for him to blow you an obnoxiously loud kiss. you huff and lay back down on his shoulder.

“aren’t you traveling in like, two days? won’t your coach be mad or something.”

“he’s gonna kill me with rocks, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.” bachira loops an arm around you and drags you both to lay back on the couch. you snuggle closer to him, sighing again, wrapped in warmth and drowsiness. you only ever get to relax like this with bachira, specially with both your busy schedules. you’re a little mad at yourself for being so tired during this precious moment, before bachira gets shipped away to another season for a couple of months, but your eyelids are struggling to stay open. it’s so cozy to be tucked against bachira’s chest like this, one hand drawing figures on your calf and down to the bone of your ankle, skin pleasantly tingly where he touches.

“thanks for today.” you mumble, sleep creeping in on you. “i needed this.”

“me too.” you feel bachira’s head lay on top of yours, his chest rising and falling with a soft breath.”

“i’m sure you’re more used to-“ you yawn- “parties in yachts full of women who wanna show you their boobs.”

he shakes a little when he giggles. “is that your impression of what i do overseas?”

“you’re not denying it.” you wrap an arm around his hips and stick your hand under his shirt for heat.

you hear bachira suck in air through his teeth. “i get sea sick easily. and there’s only one girl i wanna see strip for me.”

the arm wrapped around you shoulders drops lower, until his hand wedges under your arm. you think you feel his fingers skim the underside of your breast, nearly cupping you, but you’re too comfortable and drowsy to care. his hand is wide and warm, both on your chest and on the back of your knees as bachira practically scoops you up onto his lap.

“so clingy… youre tryin’ to crawl into my skin…” you’re sure your words are an incoherent mumble at this point but bachira seems to decipher them perfectly.

“it’s cuz i won’t see you for another two months.” he whispers those words so honestly that you smile. still with your eyes closed, you hug him closer.

“maybe you should just eat me so you don’t miss me for too long.”

he brushes his lips over your hairline, pressing a soft kiss there that lulls you to sleep. “maybe i will.”

the last thing you remember is bachira laying you down on one of the throw pillows on your couch. you sleep soundly for the most part, slipping into cloudy dreams and fluttering sensations. a fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest which you can pin to anything- the pleasant buzz of wine, the special love you hold for your friend, the dream of hands kneading into your skin. you find yourself thinking how you’ll miss these dream hands as they travel lower. you think of bachira too, how you’ll miss him just as much, and how that feeling lights a different fire in your gut that has you sighing and turning in your sleep.

pressure starts making itself known in your dream fog and your brows pinch together, trying to figure out what this new feeling is. it weighs on you, keeping you down, and it makes you think of bachira again- he holds you that same way. paired with a steady, repetitive drag, it starts to feel a little too good. the pressure turn into hands and a head makes that delicious drag feel even better.

oh, your mind must’ve wondered into sex dream territory. how embarrassing to have one with your friend right there. you blame the wine for making you dream of bachira laying on his stomach and bobbing his head between your pinned open legs.

then he moans softly, mouth open and flatten tongue dragging up your slit- and you realize this is not a dream at all.

you gasp, startled awake, sluggishly pushing yourself up on your elbows, your body lagging behind your racing, dizzying thoughts.

“m-meguru?” your tone is quiet and squeaky, quickly blinking the rest of the drunkenness and sleep away.

the only response you get is bachira looking up at you with lidded eyes, pupils blown out so wide you can barely see the beautiful honey yellow color of his eyes. your heart lips when he smiles- the kind when he’s up to no good- before he dips back down and seals his lips around your clit.

you buck into his face instantly and involuntarily, the throb of hot desire hitting you in the gut and making you moan loud. you thrash and shove a hand against his forehead, but all that does is make him wrap his arms tighter around your thighs to keep you still and open.

“what the fuck is wrong with you! what are you-“ the words die in your throat when his tongue laps at your clit, still sucked between his lips. it takes four licks of his wet tongue to have your head lulling back and body twitching.

“i haven’t even shaved!” you whine to the ceiling.

bachira let’s go with a wet pop and your hips slump back down on the couch. he can’t help but laugh. “that’s what you’re worried about?”

you lift your head back up to glare at him, just in time to catch how the bottom half of his face is wet with slick and spit.

“you’re so soft.” bachira coos, rubbing his cheek on your bush and kissing the crease between your thigh and your mound. “and you smell so good. i couldn’t help it- i always wondered what you taste like.”

“you’re so gross-“ but your breath his shaking as he kisses his way back to your pussy, puckering a long and loving kiss right between your folds. it makes a blatantly wet sound so pornographic it makes your toes curl. how long as been at this? your top is pushed up above your tits and you’re pants and underwear are were abandoned on the floor. surely you weren’t asleep that long for bachira to go so far.

and yet, the sounds of your arousal are loud and squelching with every lick and suck. your hand is still on his forehead, but all it does is push his hair away from his eyes so you can see how drunk he is on your taste.

“fuck,” is all you can say, you’re eyes crossing out of focus as your insides squeeze, the pleasure on your clit zappping straight to your brain.

it makes bachira moan loudly, his hips humping into couch cushion. “god you’re so pretty.” he can’t shut up, again mouthing his words on your cunt between kisses reverently. “i wanna smell like you, i wanna make you cum on my mouth-“

“meguru-“ he lets go of one of your legs to drag his finger down your slit. “wait-“

“i’m gonna make you feel so good, okay?” he promises, looking up at you hung the moon and stars. “let me see my pretty girl cum.”

bachira pushes his finger into you at the same time his lips go back around your clit, sucking at the same time he thrusts, and you think you’re about to die.

“oh my god-“ you struggle uselessly, this time both hands clutching bachira’s hair with clashing needs to shove him off and pull him closer. he squirms another finger in and fucks them so deep that your hips bounce on his face.

it’s all too much, too sudden, too fast. a dam of heat surges full in you quickly and breaks just as quick. bachira groans when your legs clamp around his head and you cum all over his mouth and fingers. it’s gooey and milky white, overwhelming all of his senses. the way your pussy clenches around his fingers makes his cock kick, he can’t help but shove his hips into the sofa until he’s cumming in his pants along with you.

all the air leaves your lungs and you stay like that for a second, body frozen in a shaky curl of tension until you gasp air back in, mind going blank when all of you relaxes and goes limp on the couch.

you’re panting hard, stars sparkling in your vision almost blindingly. bachira detaches from you with a wet gasp, his shoulders shaking as he pushes himself up to see the mess he made you make- committing it to memory.

“oh my god…” you say again, trembling, looking down on yourself feeling embarrassment heat your face. “what came over you?”

“i’m sorry.” bachira giggles drunkenly and is not sorry at all. “i’ve wanted to do this forever. you drove me crazy when you were cuddling up to me like that.”

“you’re blaming me for this?” you slap at his arm weakly. “you freak.”

“you liked it.”

you did. you’ve entertained the idea of hooking up with bachira before, but never had the guts to ruin your friendship. you never imaged he would make you come this hard on his tongue and fingers alone. as if on cue, he moves up to sit on his knees and you see the wet patch on his pants. you’re sick with the sudden lust it stabs into you, and the outline of his still chubbed up cock isn’t helping at all. you look up at bachira- whose already looking down at you, measured and waiting, as if waiting for you to say the right (or wrong?) thing that’ll make him pounce on you again.

“couldn’t you just kiss me like a normal person?” you say instead of giving him the satisfaction.

at that, his eyes soften. he looks like the cheeky and happy bachira you’ve always known, he laughs as he crawls onto of you, face hovering over yours.

“i still can. a sweet goodbye kiss for your husband before he goes off to war.”

“no way. you’re being corny and you’re all gross.” you scrunch your nose. he smells of spit, sweat and sex, though you doubt you smell any better.

“c’mon. it’s all you. you can wash it off later.” he muses as he lowers himself on you. you pinch at his nose to stop him from coming any closer.

“you wash off. you’re covered in cum.”

bachira pulls back pouting, but it doesn’t last as his eyes gravitate lower down your body.

“come shower with me then.” he grabs your hand to help you sit up, grinning wider when you shrink a little. “what’re you getting shy for? you’re already naked-“ he pulls you until you’re chest to chest, damp nose brushing on yours. “come shower with me so i can kiss you.”

you can’t fight back a smile, heart fluttering. “y’know, you could’ve started with that. instead of jumping me in my sleep.”

bachira shrugs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips. “i couldn’t let the opportunity slip by. my next goal is to kiss you and shower together.”

you snort. “your priorities are so skewed.”

“after that, we’re having sex on a yacht when i’m off season.” he purrs, hands snaking down to your thighs before he gets up and lifts you up with him. you squeal at the sudden liftoff, arms wrapping around his neck and legs locking around his hips. “i’m gonna bounce you around just like this-“

“i thought you got sea sick easily.“ you laugh and yell at him to be careful as he maneuvers around the coffee table to get to the bathroom. seems like the wine also did all the talking for him.

“i can handle it for awhile if it means seeing you in a tiny bikini-“

you make it to the bathroom- eventually. along the way, bachira trapped you against wall and his chest, riled up by his own thoughts of you in a bikini. he gets his kiss, swallows your moans of complaints that turn pliant when he gets his fingers back into your cunt, fucking you twitchy and sensitive as he tells you of all the other things he’s wants to do to you.

two days later, bachira is on his way to another country for the start of preliminaries. you already missed him from the moment he kissed you goodbye at the airport- lifting his cap just enough to kiss you fully, open mouthed and intimate and all consuming that surely some parent had to cover their kid’s eyes when they walked by you two.

you go to work hoping that the months pass by quickly (and his team wins of course) just as a text from bachira rings on your phone, always dutiful in keeping his promise of texting once he’s all settled in in his hotel room.

only this time. it wasn’t about the nice room he got or the grueling hours in an airplane.

-couldn’t wait

it’s a picture of you sleeping on your couch, a little bit of drool dripping on your pillow, and bachira’s fist pulling your top up to flash your tits to the camera, his legs straddling you slightly cut off by the pictures angle.

-flash me when i come home