What A Train Wreck

It wasn’t hard to get his lighter. He had left it unattended in his sudden pursuit of Toby. Perhaps he thought he slipped it back into his pocket, and that’s why he didn’t come back. But when your eyes landed back on the lighter, how could you resist?

It’s just a lighter, one of the cheap ones you get from a gas station. No value, old and probably more than halfway empty.

But Tim can’t go more than what seems like 3 hours before needing a smoke… So what if he can’t smoke for a while? Lord knows his lungs could use a break.

You run up the stairs as quietly as your pounding heart will let you. Fingers gripping your prize in a fist, shoving your hand into the pocket of your jacket.

No one could see. If anyone saw, then they would tell. If not out of fear of Tim’s wraith, then for a desire of chaos.

It’s lucky enough that Tim left it out, add in the fact that this was a rare moment where Brian wasn’t with him. There is a problem though, just because Hoodie’s unaccounted for doesn’t mean he’s not lurking.

You stop in front of your door, trying to find the right key as the door behind you opens.

“You already done for the night?” His voice is slightly slurred and rough, like he hadn’t talked in a few hours.

No one would call you the best actor, but at least your voice came out leveled and not the strangled sound you thought would. “Yea, I was up pretty early this morning so…”

That’s a lie, you slept till noon, as most do in this house. But Hoodie just nods as his hands rest in his front pocket. He’s wearing his mask, so you can’t see his expression.

You look at each other for a moment. You can’t tell if it’s tense or uncomfortable or not.

He turns down the hall to the stairs, “have a good night.”

Relief washes over you, the lock on your door finally turning. You did it. You’ve stolen Tim’s lighter. It shouldn’t be this big a deal. Objectively, this isn’t a big deal. But it’s Tim’s lighter.

What were you even going to do with it? Why’d you even take it? It’s not like you needed a lighter, you have your own.

Maybe you should give it back, walk downstairs and kick it under the table. It would be believable, the lighter getting lost in the chase…

The darker part of your mind didn’t want to do that. Tim is perfectly capable of finding another lighter… eventually.

The thought of keeping it was pleasant, better than the one of returning it. But if you were going to keep it, you’d need to hide it.

It wasn’t that privacy was rare here, more like, you had to establish it. A door being unlocked is the equivalent of a welcome in sign. Then again, sometimes a lock isn’t enough. Hoodie always seems to know when something’s up, and there isn’t much you can do to keep him out.

Your eyes drift to your disorganized closet. The old art supplies you haven’t used in years should still be in there.

Old paint, some yarns and threads, glue, wax… you didn’t want to change it too much, just enough. But what would make it unrecognizable? At the bottom of the box, you spy an organization case.

Oh.

Yes. That’s it.

With a sly smile, you get to work.

—-

It took you longer than you’d like to admit, but it was done. And, looking rather chic, in your opinion.

The lighter, now bedazzled with tiny black rhinestones, is transformed. There’s no way Tim would guess it was his now. Even if Tim suspected it, the slight change in weight would fool him. After all, his was well used.

Satisfaction settled in your stomach, the dark part of your mind pleased. It’s encouraging, invigorating almost.

All you want to do is show-off your prize. See if Masky would connect the dots. Dangle it in front of him then pull it back when he reaches.

Why? You’ve gotten in the way of his smoking, it’s dangerous. He won’t be in a tolerable mood…

——

Tim was inconsolable. He hadn’t smoked in hours, not since toby pissed him off last night.

His fucking lighter had vanished. He and Hoodie spent 2 hours searching for it before forcing Toby to help them. ‘A way to make up for it’ was the argument.

When Tim woke up this morning, the little man playing the drums in his head decided on going to war. Each pulse of his head echoed throughout the rest of his body.

It’s early enough for the house to still be asleep. Final few hours of quiet time. The air outside is wet, the forest edge barely visible with how thick the fog is.

You open the front door, joining him on the porch. He doesn’t look at you, nor acknowledge you. But his jaw doesn’t clench and his eyes remain locked on whichever branch was interesting enough.

There’s a cig in his mouth, unlit. Probably there out of habit more than anything.

The silence is tense. One slip of the tongue, and poof, he’d find out and you’d be dead.

“Are you-” you pause, asking him was stupid since he obviously wasn’t. But commitment. “Are you okay?”

Tim lets out a deep rumble of a sigh, “lighters missing.”

“You don’t have a spare?”

“Usually do,” he stands straighter, stretching his shoulders before relaxing again. “Haven’ been to town in a while.”

He isn’t that much taller than you, but the morning shadows make him seem much larger.

You give a small ‘Ah’ of acknowledgment. This was easier in your head. Now was the opportunity and the blood rushing to your cheeks wasn’t helping.

You pull out the bedazzled lighter, flicking it on in front of his cig. “Here.” Your hand wasn’t trembling as much as you thought it would.

Tim pauses, looking at the lighter, seeing the tiny sparkles reflected. He rotates the stick in his mouth, turning it into the small flame.

He takes a long, drawn-out breath. Smoke filling his lungs as nicotine rushes through him again. His eyes slightly close as he exhales through his nose.

You shove the lighter back in your pocket, careful of the warm part.

“Nice lighter.” His voice is still gruff and rumbly, but more so his normal expression. He takes another long breath, slow and methodical about it. “Since when do you carry one?”

“Since always.”

Tim’s brown eyes look you up and down, his brow slightly raised. God does he look good, even in the dim light.

“You don’t smoke.”

If he points out the fact that you have no real reason to be out here this early, you’re screwed. You can’t take much more of that look either. He’s waiting for the crack, you realize, the slip in the act.

You tear your gaze away, closing your eyes as you turn your nose up. Folding your arms, you stumble as best you can over the words. “You’re not privy to everything in my pockets Tim. I can carry a lighter.”

He turns back to the forest, taking in another long draw. He glances at you, eyes bouncing back and forth in direction.

But everything in this lousy mansion is out of your hands anyway.

The bottle spun on the coffee table, wobbling through the leftover alcohol and cigarette ash stains before it slowed and finally stopped.

It landed on—

You looked up.

Tim.

Before the room could go completely silent, Jeff let out a loud, ugly laugh.

“Well shit,” he crowed, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “Looks like Timmy gets the consolation prize. Try not to bore her to death in there, old man.”

Tim didn’t snap back. He just stared Jeff down from across the circle, his eyes dark and narrowed. There was something almost smug in the way he tilted his head, like he already knew exactly how much this was eating Jeff alive, how he could practically see right through his asshole demeanor. 

He stared at Jeff long enough for the boy to sink back into himself a little, but not without rolling his eyes and crossing his arms as he broke the stare down to glare out the window.

But then Tim turned and walked straight past you, his boots thumping on the floorboards as he headed down the short hallway toward the closet like he had all the time in the world.

You stayed seated for a beat, your heart suddenly kicking harder than it should.

Nina wasn’t having it. She popped up behind you with a bright, mischievous laugh and hooked her arms under yours, hauling you to your feet.

“Nope! Don’t be a baby, babe. Go on!”

She gave you a firm shove toward the direction Tim just went. A couple of the others whistled and clapped as you stumbled forward, but as you looked back one final time in anxiousness, all you saw was Jeff’s wide eyes watching you fade around the corner. In amongst the distraction, Brian had moved from his spot and was now leaning against the wall nearest the hall towards the closet. As you approached, he rummaged into his jacket pocket and fished out a silver flip lighter, pushing it into your hands before you could pass.

You looked down at it, feeling the cold weight in your hand, before looking at him—only for the blond to give you a very confusing nod before he let you go. You shoved it into your back pocket.

Tim was already at the closet door. He yanked it open, reached up, and pulled the chain for the single bare bulb dangling inside. Weak yellow light spilled out over the hanging coats and junk boxes, flumes of dust floated out, and you had to wave the air in front of your face to keep from coughing. He stepped aside, one hand still holding the door, and tilted his head toward the inside.

You hesitated. “Tim, I can just—”

“Get over yourself,” he cut you off, keeping his face flat and unreadable. Before you could retort again, he stepped in close, using his body to herd you forward until you were inside the cramped space. The door pulled shut behind him with a final click.

The muffled music and laughter from the living room dulled instantly, only the floorboard thumps under your shoes to keep you company.

Tim reached down and fiddled with the dials on his wristwatch, setting the timer with a few soft clicks. Seven minutes. The little hands began ticking immediately.

You both stood awkwardly about a foot and a half apart, your backs pressed against opposite walls of the cramped closet. You kept your eyes glued to the floor, occasionally fiddling with the hem of your shirt or picking at your fingernails. Tim, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was watching you. His gaze was steadily honed on you, occasionally flicking toward the closed door like he was listening for footsteps or somebody snooping outside. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, digging around until he found his trusty pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and slid it between his lips like he always did.

Then he started patting his other pockets.

“Shit,” he grunted under his breath. “Left my lighter with Brian.”

“Oh, wait.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching into your back pocket and pulling out the worn silver lighter Brian had given you moments ago. You held it out to him without a word.

Tim’s eyes flicked down to the lighter, then back up to your face. A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took it from your fingers, his hand brushing yours.

He flicked it open, lit the cigarette, and took a long, deep drag. The tip glowed bright orange in the dim light. He exhaled a thick plume of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it curl and drift in the stale air, pockets of smog dancing like little ghosts around the lightbulb.

You raised an eyebrow. “You really think it’s smart to smoke in a closet this small?”

Tim shrugged one shoulder, completely unbothered. He took another drag, then lowered the cigarette, smoke pooling from between his lips as he spoke.

“Probably not.” His voice was gravelly. “But I've already decided to be in here with you. Might as well add this to the list of bad choices tonight.”

You laughed.

He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes never really leaving you. The smoke continued to drift lazily between the two of you, filling the small space with the sharp scent of tobacco.

You shifted your weight against the wall under the intensity of his stare, your arms loosely crossed. The smoke was already starting to make the small space feel even stuffier.

“Do you think Jeff’s gonna retaliate at all?” you asked one-offedly, reaching for anything to conversate about.

Tim took another slow drag, then exhaled through his nose. “No.”

He sounded sure. Almost bored.

“Jeff’s emotional and jealous and got a nasty fucking temper,” he continued, flicking ash onto the floor. “But if he’s actually mad, he’ll turn that shit on somebody else. He’s too scared to come at me.”

You let out a laugh, nodding. “Yeah… that sounds about right.”

Tim tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Why’re you concerned?”

“No reason,” you said quickly, shrugging. “Just… you two seem like you’re in some kind of secret competition. It’s weird.”

Tim went quiet for a long moment. He brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking two slow puffs while he thought. Smoke curled up between you like a hazy curtain.

“Maybe we are,” he finally admitted.

You shook your head. “You’re not the type to do childish shit like that.”

Tim let out a short, rough laugh, almost like he was surprised by your response.

“For the right person?” he said, “I might.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than moments before. The muffled noise from the living room seemed to fade even further away, only the cadence of the speakers thumping enough to let you know the party was still happening. You were both just… looking at each other. 

Then Tim pulled the cigarette from his mouth and held it out to you, offering it between two fingers.

You took it carefully. When you brought it to your lips, you could still feel the warmth from his mouth on the filter. You took a puff, the smoke filling your lungs with that familiar burn.

Tim’s gaze stayed locked on your mouth, watching the way your lips wrapped around the same spot his had just been. His head tilted slightly, something unreadable shifting in his face as he tracked the motion.

When you lowered the cigarette and exhaled, he was still staring. So you stared right back at him, no longer pretending to study the floor.

Tim looked… different tonight, even if only slightly. His clothes were his usual thick jacket and jeans, but they were cleaner than normal, no random gunpowder smudges, no dirt or dried blood. His hair was a little more put together, and that ever-present stern, gruff expression sat heavy on his face like it always did. 

It was nice seeing him without his mask amongst so many people, but that also meant that he couldn’t hide behind it, that he had to face you and everyone else with his whole self—no Masky there to save him.

“You’re being tense,” he said bluntly, breaking the silence.

“Well, yeah,” you answered, letting out a short breath.

Tim shrugged one shoulder, reaching out to take the cigarette from you and promptly taking two deep drags. “We’ve been alone together plenty of times before. This isn’t any different.”

“It is different,” you countered. “This isn't a mission or some supply run or something. This is… this.” You gestured vaguely at the cramped space left between you.

“I didn’t know context mattered that much to our relationship.”

You let out an awkward little laugh, shifting against the wall. “It’s funny you’re even calling it a relationship.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You just shook your head, laughing again under your breath, unsure how to answer. He was being so blunt tonight, more direct than usual, like the straightforwardness was a shield. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw kept flexing, but he wouldn’t relax. It was like he was ready to punch you and run at any moment, if he wasn’t going to yell at you first.

“…Are you nervous?” you asked quietly.

Tim didn’t answer right away. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, studying the little ticking hands.

“Six minutes left,” he said instead, completely sidestepping the question.

You let out an awkward laugh and shook your head.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous, you know,” you told him. “This is weird, but it’s just a stupid game to embarrass everyone. It’s not serious.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I know that.”

He passed the cigarette back. You brought it to your lips and inhaled, mostly just to give your hands something to do. The smoke filled your lungs, but it did nothing to ease the thick tension sitting between you, even if it did make you a little lightheaded.

The two of you kept staring at each other.

You finally spoke again. “Are you only playing because Jeff egged you on?”

Tim let out a dry laugh and looked down at his boots for a second before his gaze returned to yours.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m playing because I wanted to.”

“Why would you want to play something like this?”

“Why would you?” he asked, turning the question right back on you.

The air felt heavier. You swallowed. “I’m… not sure.”

Tim’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Really?” It seemed like he was almost teasing you.

You held his gaze for a long second, then let out a breath. 

“No.”

He took the cigarette back when you offered it, but he didn’t bring it to his lips right away. He just kept watching you, smoke curling slowly from the tip.

The timer on his watch continued its quiet ticking. Five minutes left.

Tim finally spoke again. “Good. At least we’re being honest now.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You think I’m not being honest?”

Tim shook his head slowly. “Not with yourself.”

You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not being honest with what you want.”

“Oh, so you know what I want now?” you shot back, irritation rising fast. “You know what’s best for me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

That irritated you more than it should have. You pushed off the wall slightly, glaring up at him.

“You’re just being rude now, man.”

“You’ve never had a problem with my rudeness before.”

“Context,” you muttered, reiterating the idea he couldn’t seem to grasp.

“Ah, yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Context.” He took one last drag before dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. “Like the context of Jeff pretending he’s got some kind of claim over you… and you going along with it.”

Your stomach twisted. “Jeff does not have a claim over me.”

The words had barely left your mouth before Tim took a single, big step forward.

The already cramped closet shrank instantly. He loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the weak light from the bulb overhead. The smell of smoke and pine and that familiar warm scent that always clung to him filled the air between you, almost overwhelming you. You pressed your back against the wall once again.

He stared down at you, almost looming.

“Then who does?”

His face was close now, close enough that you could see the thick stubble on his jaw and the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t touching you, but the sheer presence of him made your back press harder against the wall.

You glared up at him, your heart kicking against your ribs as the silence stretched, but after a long moment, you finally answered.

“Nobody.”

You caught it.

For just a split second, Tim’s dark eyes flicked down to your mouth as you said the word, watching the shape of it on your lips. He snapped them back up to yours almost immediately, probably hoping you didn’t catch it. But you did.

You swallowed, then added, “Not even Slenderman.”

Tim let out a short, rough laugh.

“He wouldn’t like hearing you say that too much.”

“Well…” you tilted your head slightly, still staring up at him, “he’s not here, is he?”

This time, Tim didn’t even try to hide it. His gaze dropped to your mouth again and stayed there longer. You watched his jaw flex, the muscle ticking under the skin as his eyes traced the curve of your lips. 

It felt like it was getting harder to breathe.

When his eyes finally dragged back up to yours, they seemed darker than before.

“No,” he murmured. “He’s not.”

Before you could say anything more, Tim reached into his jacket pocket again, pulling out the same pack of cigarettes.

You huffed. “Seriously? It’s been, what, two minutes since your last one. Can you really not take a break?”

He didn’t answer. He just shook another cigarette out, lit it with the same silver lighter you’d handed him earlier, and took two puffs. The tip burned bright orange, and exhaled the smoke through his nose. 

Then his hand moved.

He reached out and clasped your jaw firmly, his thick fingers pressing into your cheeks and smooshing them together until your lips puckered. Your hand flew up on instinct, grabbing his wrist and tugging down, but he didn’t budge an inch. His grip was strong.

“Tim—” your voice was a little muffled against the strain of his grip. For a second you wondered if you’d actually pissed him off.

“Open.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Open your mouth.”

You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was joking, but there was nothing playful there. You didn’t know if you could laugh out of caution of making him more mad, so… you did what you were told.

When he was satisfied, Tim leaned in and placed the lit cigarette between your puckered lips, then used his thumb to close your mouth around it.

“You know what to do,” he murmured.

He didn’t let go of your jaw.

You had no choice but to inhale. You took a normal, comfortable drag, the smoke filling your lungs before you exhaled it through your nose. You stared up at him, confused, waiting for some kind of explanation. Was this supposed to be degrading? Some weird power move? Or some weird one-off joke that you’ve never known him to make?

But his grip stayed firm on your cheeks, and his expression didn’t change. He didn’t look satisfied.

You started to squirm, pawing at his arm. “Tim—”

“More,” he said.

You tried to speak around the cigarette, fumbling the filter between your teeth. “What’s happening right now—”

He stepped even closer, one of his boots planting between your feet so your legs were forced to part slightly. His other hand came up to tilt your chin higher, making you look straight up into his face. The overhead light cast harsh shadows over his stern features.

“Keep going,” he grunted.

You furrowed your brows, but obeyed, taking another drag. Then another. He watched every inhale with utmost interest.

“C’mon,” he said quietly, almost coaxing you. “Don’t stop.”

You inhaled again, deeper this time, pulling harder on the cigarette. The smoke burned hotter going down. Your head started to feel light.

“Again,” he continued. “As much as you can.”

You kept going, breath after breath, the nicotine hitting harder with every pull. Your vision began to swim. A heavy, dizzy fog rolled over your mind as the rush flooded your system. Your knees felt weak. The hand you had on his arm tightened, trying to steady yourself as the world tilted slightly.

Tim’s grip on your jaw stayed iron-still, holding you in place while he watched your face closely, seeing every detail of your flushed cheeks and drooping eyes and your steadily relaxing muscles.

“That’s it,” he muttered, soothing, almost. “One more. Big one.”

You whimpered softly around the cigarette, head spinning badly now, but you did it anyway. You pulled long and deep until your lungs were burning and the dizziness crashed over you like a wave. The nicotine buzz was overwhelming and sharp and heady, and making everything feel floaty and too warm.

Tim finally pulled the cigarette from between your lips.

You immediately exhaled hard, right into his face—a thick cloud of smoke rushing out as you tried to empty your burning lungs. The motion triggered a coughing fit. Your eyes watered, your vision became blurry, and you felt completely dizzy and messy, probably looking a little disheveled.

But Tim kept his hand firmly on your jaw, holding your face in place. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you struggle, not out of malice but he was clearly satisfied now.

Your head was still swimming badly. You tried to steady yourself, taking shaky, deep breaths of the thick, smoggy air in the tiny closet. The nicotine buzz was intense, making everything feel too floaty and too warm and too out of your body.

“Tim… I feel really dizzy,” you managed, a little breathless.

You heard him chuckle, “I know.”

His thumb slowly dragged across your bottom lip, wiping away the spit that had gathered there from coughing and your heavy breathing. His eyes followed the motion.

Then, without warning, he brought the cigarette back to his own mouth, took one long, final drag, and dropped it to the floor. He crushed it under his boot right next to the first one.

Before you could even catch your breath, Tim leaned down and kissed you.

He grabbed both sides of your face with his rough hands, holding you firmly as he brought your faces together. Your hands shot up and pressed against his chest, bracing yourself against the embarrassment that was breaking through your mental haze. This was ridiculous. It was some weird, controlling kink thing… but your brain wasn’t working well enough to care.

All you could focus on was how warm his hands felt against your cheeks and how good his mouth felt on yours.

Then his tongue pushed past your lips, and he breathed the smoke from his lungs into your mouth.

The sudden rush made your head spin all over again. You let out a muffled groan and gripped the front of his jacket tighter, your fingers twisting into the thick fabric. Tim responded by dropping his hands to your waist and yanking your body flush against his.

Oh.

He was hard. You could feel him clearly through his jeans, pressed against your lower stomach. For a split second, nervousness flared in your chest.

Should you be nervous? Probably.

But the thought dissolved almost as quickly as it came.

Fuck it.

You kissed him back harder, desperate to feel something solid amongst all of your dizziness. Tim groaned in his throat and tilted your head, kissing you like he was starving for it, like this was all he’d ever wanted.

It became too much.

The smoke, the nicotine, the heat of his body—you couldn’t breathe. You pushed against his chest with both hands. Tim pulled back just enough for you both to gasp for air.

Thick smoke wafted out of both of your mouths, curling between your faces and up into the muggy air. You noted how Tim’s face looked, how the smoke parted around his jaw and up above the dark hair in his head. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. His hands stayed locked on your waist, but his chest rose and fell rhythmically under your palms.

It was getting hard to tell if Tim had always looked this good, or if the overwhelming amount of nicotine in your bloodstream was making your brain go numb.

But after a minute of panting, you felt your senses returning—most notably, the loud pulse of the music from the living room vibrating through the walls and into your shaky bones. You slowly started regaining your steadiness, the dizzy fog beginning to lift. Tim slid a flat palm up your back.

“Deep breaths,” he hums.

You obeyed without thinking, too deep in whatever headspace he’d pushed you into to pretend it didn’t feel ridiculously good. Each inhale felt almost euphoric, your chest rising and falling as you breathed in the thick, smoky air. You gripped the shoulders of his jacket, and after a moment you noticed he was breathing in time with you, drinking down fresh air as you did.

You glanced up at his face. The usual stern mask he wears had fallen into something lazier, almost hazy. He looked a little lost just staring at you with his half-lidded eyes.

When you blinked long enough to reset your vision, you met his eyes again, and he began to lean in toward your lips, his eyes dropping to your mouth in time with his movement. You let him come to you, tilting your chin up to meet him—

His watch started beeping sharply under his sleeve, knocking the moment right off kilter.

You both jerked back, staring at each other like you’d completely forgotten why you were even in the closet in the first place. Whatever obnoxious spell you both were under vanished. From outside, the music in the living room suddenly cut off. You could hear laughter and the sound of people scrambling down the hallway toward you.

Tim stepped back, putting space between you again. He adjusted his jeans, and tried his best to smooth his jacket out. By the time the door flew open, you were both standing roughly where you started with your backs against opposite walls, trying (and failing) to look casual.

The closet door swung open and you were immediately hit with fresh air and very nosy faces.

Toby’s was the only one you registered, though. The thick cloud of smoke rolled out past them into the hallway. He wrinkled his nose dramatically, grimacing at you two.

“J-Jesus, man,” he laughed. “You’re really smm-smoking in h-here? In a fucking clo-closet?”

Tim just blew air through his nose, clearly unimpressed. He shoved Toby’s head to the side and stepped out, brushing past the group without another word. He didn’t even glance back at you before heading down the hall.

You tried to follow, but Toby’s eyes locked onto you and he let out a shrill laugh.

“Ho-ly shit. You don’t loo-look too hah-hot right now.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, brushing past him as he started firing off questions.

“What’d h-he do? D-Did he make yo-you cry? Why do you smell like an ahh-ashtray? Wait—did you guys actually do an-anything or—”

You ignored him and made a beeline for the kitchen, desperate for something cold to drink. Your head was still swimmy and light, the nicotine making everything feel slightly tilted as you stumbled through the still-trashed house.

You passed Tim on the way. He had already found his usual spot right next to Brian, the two of them leaning against the wall like they were physically incapable of being more than three feet apart for more than ten minutes. Tim’s eyes flicked to you as you walked by, but he didn’t say anything. Brian, however, didn’t take his eyes off of you as you passed, gathering all the information he needed just from the state of you.

You yanked open the fridge, grabbed the first beer you saw, and popped it open. You drank nearly half of it in one go, the cold yeasty liquid soothing your raw throat and helping ground you a little.

Unfortunately, you weren’t alone for long.

Toby wandered in after you, Natalie right beside him and EJ trailing quietly behind them. The three of them formed a little triangle, watching you like a very nosy, very abrasive little troupe of bastards.

Most of the party in the living room had devolved into loud chugging contests and some money-gambling version of Go Fish that involved way too many rules and even more yelling. You were grateful almost everyone else was too distracted to notice how obviously rattled you were—except for these dipshits.

Toby leaned on the island counter, grinning wide enough to make your blood boil a bit. “So… you guh-gonna tell us what hah-happened in there or do w-we have to guess?”

Natalie tilted her head. “You look like you just got punched in the face… but, like, not in a bad way.”

You opened your mouth, ready to snap something mean and defensive, but before you could get it out, Brian walked into the kitchen.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he waved a hand at the trio. “Move along. Go have your little orgy somewhere else and leave people alone.”

Jack let out a raspy little laugh, which was rare enough that it surprised you into laughing too. Toby whined dramatically but let Natalie tug him away. The three of them shuffled out, Toby still throwing questions over his shoulder until they disappeared back toward the living room and out of your field of vision.

Once they were gone, Brian opened the fridge, rummaged through the junk and pulled out a beer for himself, then popped the tab. He leaned against the counter across from you and took a sip as he studied your face, which you were trying very hard to make seem normal.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, sipping at your beer if only to give your hands something to do. “Yeah… just a little… shaken up.”

Brian gave an understanding nod. “Tim can be a little intense sometimes. He’s either completely honed in or not interested at all. Sometimes he forgets that not everybody is like that, too.”

Your face burned with embarrassment, but if there was anyone you could talk to about this, it was Brian. He knew Tim better than anyone.

You tapped the cold glass of the bottle in your hands for a second, then asked, “Do you think he only did it because he was pissed about Jeff?”

Brian shook his head immediately.

“Nah. Tim doesn’t work like that. Jeff’s just an annoying, loud mouth kid to him. He doesn’t lose his head over shit like that.”

You stared down at your beer, chewing on your lip. “Then… why?”

Brian took another sip, then jerked his chin toward the back door.

“He’s out on the porch right now. And—he’s not smoking.” Brian raised his eyebrows. “When Tim’s not smoking, it means he’s thinking. Thinking real hard.”

He pushed off the counter, nodding toward the fridge.

“Go take him a beer. That’ll ease him up.”

You watched Brian disappear back into the living room, then immediately pressed the cold beer bottle against your forehead and closed your eyes. The chill helped a little, but your stomach was still doing nervous flips. Not scared-of-Tim flips. Just stupid, schoolgirl-crush, heart-in-your-throat flips. Barf. It was embarrassing as hell.

“Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

You popped open the fridge again, grabbed the last beer, and started heading for the back porch. 

But the second you reached the kitchen doorway, you froze.

Jeff was standing there, leaning against the frame, and blocking your path. He didn’t say a word. Just stared at you. And it was so… unreadable. His eyes flicked over your face, your slightly messy hair, the flush still lingering on your cheeks.

You stared right back.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. For a moment it felt like neither of you would move, but for as much ruckus as Jeff had caused tonight, you were more-than-willing to be rid of him right now. You had bigger things on your plate. 

You squared your shoulders and shoved past him, knocking his arm out of the way with your shoulder.

He didn’t try to stop you.

You moved quickly through the hallway, the noise of the party fading behind you as you pushed through the back door and stepped out onto the wrap-around back porch.

The night air was cooler out here compared to the thick mug of coffee alcohol and smoke inside, trading the damp smells for fresh pines and wet dirt. Most of the party had moved or stayed inside, so the porch was vacant for the most part. But at the far end, where the railing curved into shadows and no one could see if they didn’t come outside, stood Tim.

He was leaning forward on the railing, staring out into the dark tree line like he was looking for something. He didn’t turn when he heard the door open. He didn’t glance over as your shoes creaked across the wooden planks. But you knew that he knew it was you.

You walked up and stopped beside him, setting the unopened beer on the railing near his hand, little beads of condensation dripping onto the wood.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of crickets and the low hum from inside. You looked out into the treeline too, seeing how the dark shadows gave way to a black void beyond where the porch lights could reach. There were so many creatures and monsters out there, but none of them even came close to shaking your nerves like the man standing right next to you.

“Hey.”

Tim finally turned his head, his eyes sliding over to meet yours. 

Tim’s stare had always been like iron, so sharp and guarded and prickling with intensity that kept almost everyone at arm’s length. But right now it looked… weary? Tired in a way that seemed deeper than just the late hour and the shitty beer. 

Then his gaze dropped to the bottle in your hand. 

“What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” you said, pushing it toward him a little further. “You looked like you could use one.”

Tim looked at you again, then at the bottle, before taking it. He twisted the cap off and took a long pull. Almost immediately his face twisted and he huffed through his nose.

“Jesus Christ, that’s awful.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you took another drink from your own. For a while, the two of you just leaned against the railing side by side, listening to the crickets and the distant rustle of the woods. The party noises inside felt miles away.

Eventually Tim huffed again, almost like he was annoyed with himself.

“I’m sorry for overstepping in there,” he said quietly. “I got lost in the theatrics of it all.”

You shook your head. “I would’ve told you to stop if I didn’t like it.”

…

You both caught it at the same time—the admission, the way it lingered. Your eyes met again.

Tim turned his head fully toward you, that weary look sharpening into something more focused.

“Did you like it?” he asked, and it’s like the words turned to static as they reached your ears.

You looked down at your shoes for a minute.

It had thrown you off, sure. The tightness of the space, the weird dynamic between you two, even the sheer amount of embarrassment from having to play this game at all made your brain feel like mush. But you couldn’t deny it.

It felt good.

The dizziness. The way your head went fuzzy and floaty. The way he took control of you completely and didn’t let you hide from it. The way every thought in your brain is stamped out the moment oxygen is absent from you.

Yeah… it felt good. A lot better than you were ever going to admit.

You took a big drink to buy yourself time for something witty to say, only to realize you’d already finished the entire bottle and there were only droplets left. You sighed and met his stare again.

“It’s a weird question,” you grimaced with an awkward little laugh.

Tim didn’t laugh with you.

He pushed off of the railing and stepped closer, close enough that you were suddenly the same distance apart as you’d been in that stupid closet. And who would’ve thought, but the fresh air out here suddenly became thicker in your lungs too.

His free hand lifted slowly. You watched it rise, your heart kicking off its rapid thumps like shoes in a washing machine once again. His fingers brushed the side of your neck first, and he was sure to feel the goosebumps that were rising there, before they slid from their position to lace around either side of your throat. His palm rested just under your chin.

You stalled completely. Went stock-still.

Heat flooded your face so fast you were sure you looked ridiculous. That familiar, stupid nervousness rushed back over you like a wave, making your breath catch and the tips of your fingers feel numb.

“Do you know your answer now?” he grumbled.

You stared up at him, completely dumbfounded. The words wouldn’t come. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Before you could find your voice, Tim reached down with his free hand and pried the empty beer bottle you’d forgotten about from your fingers. He set it on the railing beside his own, then closed the last bit of distance between you until your noses almost bumped.

His fingers flexed against the sides of your neck, applying the easiest amount of pressure to your airway.

You gasped sharply and your hands flew up on instinct, grabbing his wrist tightly.

“Is this okay?” he murmured.

You didn’t answer right away. The pressure made your breath go shallow, a warm, heavy feeling blooming in your head. It wasn’t painful—just intense. Overwhelming. Your pulse hammered against his palm.

After a second, you gave him a small nod.

That was all he needed.

Tim leaned in and kissed you, his beer-tasting lips sliding to meet yours, while his hand squeezed a little harder around your throat. It pinpointed your senses onto him—onto how labored he was making your breaths, how fuzzy he was making you feel, how warm and mushy and light all at once. 

You whimpered against his mouth, the sound embarrassingly whiny and needy as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, doing little to keep yourself afloat as your knees weakened.

Tim’s other hand slid down and grabbed your hip firmly, fingers digging in as he pulled you tighter against him.

You tilted your head up further, sliding your hands from his wrist all the way up to the collar of his jacket. You tugged at him, yanking his chest flush against yours. Tim grunted, growling into the kiss and pushing his tongue between your lips, invading your senses.

Things started to get muggy really quick.

His hand around your throat tightened just enough to make your airway feel suddenly shallow. Every breath came out smaller, sweeter, turning your little gasps and whines into something embarrassingly needy between kisses. The more you whimpered, the more Tim chuckled warmly against your mouth.

He finally pulled back just enough for you to gasp in a proper breath, but his hand stayed glued around your throat firmly. Spit glistened on your swollen lips. You were the picture of bliss right now with your hazy eyes and flushed cheeks and lightheaded demeanor. Tim studied your face for a second, then shook his head slightly, like he wasn’t satisfied.

“You’re still too coherent,” he grumbled.

His hand left your hip and rose to your mouth. His thumb traced slowly around your wet lips, smearing the spit across them until they shone. Then he pushed his thumb between your parted lips, sliding it over your tongue.

You tasted the salt of his skin and sighed.

He gently bobbed his thumb in and out of your mouth, teasing, his eyes locked on the sight. You wrapped your lips around it instinctively and started licking, swirling your tongue under the pad of his thumb like it wasn’t completely desperate and embarrassing.

The effect on Tim was immediate, though.

“Fuck…” He pressed his thumb deeper for a moment, then pulled it out slowly, dragging it across your bottom lip. His hand around your throat flexed again, applying that perfect amount of pressure that made your head swim even more and your blinking grow more rapid.

“You have no idea what you look like right now.” His hips pressed forward against you, letting you feel exactly how hard he was. “How good you look.”

Tim dipped his thumb back into your mouth, sliding it slowly over your tongue. Without thinking, you started bobbing your head, sucking on it with gently eager pulls.

“Good job,” his voice dripped with approval.

The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. Your stomach flipped, heat flooding low in your belly.

He pulled his thumb out, dragging it across your bottom lip and leaving your mouth open and wet. Then he latched his mouth back into yours, kissing you deeply while his hand squeezed tighter.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound snagged as your air began to dissipate.

The kiss turned heated, your tongues sliding hot and messy, teeth nipping each other's lips, both of you breathing hard through it. Tim growled against you, devouring every little sound you gave him.

He pulled back just enough to speak. “If you wanted this the whole time, you could’ve just asked, sweetheart.”

Then his grip on your throat tightened hard.

Your eyes widened. A sharp, shrill sound escaped you as your airflow suddenly cut off completely. Your hands flew back to his wrist, gripping tight. Your eyes fluttered with tears and rolled slightly as the pressure built fast in your head.

“That’s it,” he kept his voice steady. “Don’t be too loud now, can’t have anybody seeing what a mess you are, now can we?”

In your haze, everything felt overwhelming. The rush of blood making your face burn hot. The tight, rigid tension in your body. The floating sensation in your head. It was turning you on so badly you could barely think, could barely keep tabs on the rest of your body.

So, you gave in.

Your body went a little limp in his hold, trusting him, melting against his chest. Failed little breaths turned into choked, whimpering moans that rumbled against his palm. Your thighs pressed together as heat throbbed between them horribly. Tim groaned in time with your sounds, pressing his hard cock against your hip and grinding away, letting you feel how much this was affecting him too.

“Does it feel good?” his lips brushed your cheek as he kissed you almost tenderly. “You can let go. I’ve got you, doll.”

You were clawing at his wrist now, not to pull him off, but because the pressure in your head kept building at a staggering rate, a bright white heat spreading through your senses, numbing everything else. It felt so fucking good. So freeing. Like every nerve in your body was lit up and floating at the same time.

You felt warm lines of tears roll down your cheeks.

“Awh… poor thing,” he breathed. “Don’t you know anybody could walk around this porch right now and see you? Anyone can see what a… fuck… what a mess you are.”

He stilled up after he said that, like he realized something, like he just had the air punched out of him.

Then he finally let go.

The rush of air back into your lungs hit you like a truck. You coughed violently, your chest doing great swoops as you gasped and choked, desperately trying to pull oxygen back in and getting interrupted by your own coughs. Your legs buckled, but Tim caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you upright against his chest.

He grumbled his support through it, “There you go. Take it easy.”

When you finally felt steady enough, you lifted your head from its position of staring blearily down at your shoes. Your cheeks were wet with tears, and you could still feel the mess of spit on your swollen lips. The embarrassment tries to wash over you, but is ultimately overpowered by the thumping ache in your stomach and head.

Tim tilted your chin up with his thumb, studying your face carefully.

“You alright?” he asked, glancing from one eye to the other, registering how much wider your pupils had become.

You took a shaky second, then nodded. “…Yeah.”

It was silent for a moment, before you both spoke again:

“You satisfi—?”

“Can you do it again?”

Tim groaned. “Fuck.”

He grabbed your arm and tugged you backward along the porch, moving you both around the corner of the house where the wrap-around deck tucked against the wall. It was much more private here—someone would have to step fully outside and round the corner to see you.

The second you were hidden from view, Tim’s hands landed on your shoulders and pushed you down.

Your knees hit the wooden planks without any resistance. The dizziness was back full tilt, so you swayed a little as you settled, fighting the fog in your head to look up at him. Tim towered over you, broad and dark against the night sky, the porch light casting sharp shadows across his burly face.

Jesus Christ, he’s hot as fuck.

He stared down at you for a moment, breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling in big pulses. He brought both hands to either side of your face, cupping your cheeks and curling his fingers under your jaw. His thumbs brushed over your tear-streaked skin, wiping some of it away.

You broke eye contact and looked straight ahead, right at your eye level.

Fuck.

Tim’s bulge was obvious, straining hard against the front of his jeans, the thick outline pulsing slightly with his heartbeat. Your lips parted on a shaky gasp. Even with your vision still a little blurry from the lack of oxygen, it was so evident, you couldn’t look away. Your mouth watered.

You wanted it. Horribly. 

Tim slid one hand to the back of your head, cupping it to keep your limp, oxygen-deprived body from tipping over. Your skin felt prickly all over, your nerves buzzing and firing off in little shivers.

You dragged your gaze back up to his face, swallowing hard.

“I want it,” you whispered, your voice so small you barely even heard it.

Tim’s lips curved into a grin, his eyebrows raising in mock question. The sight of it made your stomach flip.

“Yeah?” he murmured, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You want it so bad… then you’re gonna have to take it for yourself.”

Your eyes dropped back down in front of you, then up to his belt. Your hands felt weak, but you raised them anyway and you worked at his belt buckle, the metal clinking as you pulled the leather through the clasps, fighting to get it open.

Tim didn’t help you. He just stood there, letting you struggle with the button and zipper, punctuating every step of the way with little sighs or grunts of approval.

“That’s it,” he said when you finally got the zipper down. “Go on, then. Show me what you want.”

Tim leaned his shoulders back against the side of the house, the wood creaking under his weight as he rolled his hips forward just slightly, like he was offering himself to you—or asking you to hurry up—you weren’t sure.

He was wearing dark navy boxers, and right at the tip of the very prominent bulge there was a small, damp spot where the fabric clung to him. Heart hammering, you shifted higher on your knees. Your hands were still shaky from the lack of oxygen earlier, but you reached up anyway, curling your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. His skin was warm, almost hot, under your fingertips. You noticed the dark trail of hair starting just below his navel, leading down and disappearing beneath the fabric.

You swallowed hard and tugged his boxers down.

The second you pulled them past his hips, his cock sprang free, so heavy, bobbing once right in front of your face.

Oh my god.

He was big. Not porn-star scumbag long, but thick like the rest of his body, girthy in a way that made your stomach tighten with nervous excitement. The flushed head was already glistening with pre-cum, a shiny bead forming at the slit and threatening to drip right there in front of your lips. He was thickest in the middle, the length curving a bit where a prominent vein snaked the underside, throbbing every few moments. You could see it twitch slightly in time with his pulse. All to lead to a dark, messy patch of hair at his pelvis.

Everything felt hazy. You were a little awestruck and more than a little intimidated.

Tim let out a relieved huff when his cock finally fell free, almost like he’d been holding his breath. You could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the musk of his skin and the air from the night. Your thighs pressed together instinctively as another wave of dizzy heat washed through you.

Tim’s voice groveled from above you, “You gonna just stare at it all night?”

There was a punch of amusement in his tone, but mostly it was strained, like he was trying very hard to stay patient while you knelt before him, wide-eyed and visibly overwhelmed.

His cock gave another twitch right in front of you, another bead of pre-cum forming at the tip.

“I… I’ve never… I mean—”

Tim chuckled. “Use your words.”

You swallowed over the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning hotter. “I’m nervous,” you mumbled. “I’ve never done… this before.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, tilting his head so he was looking down the bridge of his nose at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Nobody’s used this mouth before?” he asked, almost disbelieving.

He slid his hand from the back of your head to cup under your chin, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip before tugging it down and parting your lips for him. His brows furrowed as he stared at your open mouth.

You licked your lips nervously. “Will you… be easy?”

Tim let out a chuckle, the sound warm in his chest.

“As much as I can be,” he grinned.

Then both of his hands moved to either side of your head, cupping your jaw and cheeks. You placed your hands over his, clutching his fingers tightly as he guided your head forward. Your heartbeat was so violent in your chest you thought he’d be able to hear it.

“Open up.”

You parted your lips wider, your eyes fixed on his tip as it disappeared under your nose and he eased the head past them. The tip bumped your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum spreading across your mouth. You let out a shaky breath through your nose, squeezing his hands harder.

The thick head of his cock slid over your tongue as he pushed in slowly. You opened your mouth wider on instinct, trying to make room for him. He tasted warm and a little gritty, exactly like how he always smelled naturally. Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to relax your jaw, breathing quickly through your nose.

Tim let out a groan above you, “Fuck… so wet,” his voice tight with restraint.

He angled your head a little more with both hands and pushed forward again. The tip bumped against the roof of your mouth, making you jerk slightly. Tim hissed through his teeth.

“Watch your teeth, sweetheart.”

He adjusted the angle and pushed a little deeper. You felt your lips stretch around him as roughly the first third of his length filled your mouth. It was a lot and heavy on your tongue, stretching your jaw in a way that made your head spin even more.

You ran your tongue slowly along the sensitive underside of the head, licking at the leaking slit.

“Shit—” Tim cursed sharply, his hips twitching forward on their own.

He shifted his weight, steadying himself against the wall, then tugged your head back and forth, bobbing you along the first few inches of his cock. The motion was slow, letting you get used to the size and weight of him.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. Relax your jaw… good. Suck a little harder when I pull you forward—mmh—yeah, fuck, just like that.”

He guided your head forward and back, daring to pull you a little deeper on his length every time.

“Easy now,” he instructed, stroking your cheek. “Don’t try to take too much yet. Just focus on relaxing—good. Yeah. You’re doing good.”

You could feel his hesitance in how he grabbed you, how he was holding himself stiff to not jar you too roughly. But you asked for this, so he shouldn’t hold back for your sake.

So when he pulled your head back, you scrunched your brows and pushed forward instead, taking more of him into your mouth. Tim groaned, his thumbs pressing harder into your cheeks as you stretched your lips wider around his size. Nearly halfway now.

You coughed around him, your eyes watering as he filled your mouth so completely. The stretch burned pleasantly at the corners of your lips and your jaw ached from the awkward stretch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let go of his wrists. One hand braced against his pelvis, feeling the tense muscle straining there, while the other wrapped around the thick base of his cock and gave a tentative squeeze.

Tim cursed sharply under his breath, his thumbs digging harder into your cheeks. “There you go,” he grunted.

You leaned in and took him deeper, sucking on the first half of his length as best you could. The hand wrapped around his base made it easier to angle him, letting you slide your lips further down his shaft. You bobbed your head slowly, trying to find a rhythm, your tongue pressing and sliding along the underside as you worked him. 

Tim's hips tried to buck forward before he caught himself.

“Shit… you sure you’ve never done this before?” he breathed, staring down at you. “You’re a fucking natural.”

He slid one hand into your hair, gripping just tight enough to guide you, and started pulling your head back and forth rhythmically. You let him set it, relaxing your jaw as much as you could while your hand continued stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. Your spit was already coating him, making everything slick and messy, dripping down his shaft as your tongue ran over every inch you could reach.

Tim’s breathing grew ragged, broken up by low grunts and curses every time you sucked harder or swirled your tongue around the sensitive head.

“That’s it… ahh—fuck,” he murmured when you choked a little. “Who would’ve thought you’d be this good.”

He rocked his hips in time with the movement of your head, fucking shallowly into your mouth while his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. The obscene wet sounds coming from your mouth were the only noise rivaling the crickets and bugs in the woods, besides Tim’s heavy breathing and the mumbled jump of music from inside. Please let it be loud enough so nobody can hear, you thought.

You tried to take more of him, pushing forward eagerly, but the thick head of his cock nudged against the entrance of your throat and you immediately choked, coughing hard around him. You had to pull back, gasping with watery eyes.

Frustration burned in your chest. You wanted this—wanted him—so you tried again, forcing yourself deeper. Same result. Your throat closed up, and you gagged, pulling back with a wet, embarrassing sound.

One more try. You opened wider, shoved your face forward, and immediately choked again. Lewd, messy noises spilled from your throat as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

Tim’s hands tightened on the sides of your head.

“Easy,” he cooed. “Slow down, doll. You’re pushing too hard.”

He guided you back until just the swollen tip rested on your tongue. You sucked on it obediently, apologetically, swirling your tongue over the leaking slit, tasting the salty pre-cum that kept dribbling out. Tim let out a moan, gritting his teeth as he watched.

You tried again anyway, your jaw aching in protest as you shoved forward, furrowing your brows in concentration. The wet sounds that came out of you were filthy. Tim groaned again, but this time he pulled you off completely, his cock slipping from your lips with a slick pop.

You gasped for air, spit and tears smeared across your chin and cheeks as you recollected your senses. Tim wiped at your face with his thumb, smearing the mess even more as he looked down at you.

“You’re doing perfectly,” he strained. “What’s the matter?”

You swallowed, still catching your breath, staring at his throbbing, spit-slick cock hovering in front of you—which you wanted so desperately.

“I want you to go harder,” you choked over a hoarse voice.

“You’ve barely started. You need to get comfortable first—”

“I don’t care,” you cut in, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I want you to use me. Like how you choked me earlier… I want to feel that. I want you to make me feel that way.”

Tim stalled, staring down at you. His cock gave a big twitch right in front of your face, drooling another thick bead of pre-cum that slowly dripped down the shaft. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the careful, controlled part of him warring with raw want.

Then something in his expression shifted.

He reached down and planted his hand firmly on the crown of your head, his fingers curling tight into your hair. He jerked your head back so you were looking straight up at him. His face was dark now, eyes laden with lust.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” he gripped. “But you listen to me. You fight me and you’ll hurt yourself. Understand?”

You nodded quickly, your heart racing.

Tim gripped the base of his cock with his other hand and pulled your head forward. He tapped the glistening tip against your bottom lip a few times, teasing the spit that gleamed there.

“Open.”

You parted your lips obediently, slipping your tongue out to meet him. He slid the head into your mouth, letting you close your lips around it. Then his hand moved to the back of your head, planting a base there.

“Relax,” he ordered. “Don’t fight it.”

Before you could even nod, he pushed forward, sliding deep in one smooth thrust until the head bumped the back of your mouth and pressed against the entrance of your throat. You gagged instantly, but he pulled back just as fast, only to push in again, setting a relentless rhythm.

“Oh, there we go,” he grumbled through his pleasure. “Good fucking girl. Just let me use this pretty mouth.”

Tim didn’t hold back anymore.

He tightened his grip in your hair and started fucking your mouth with punctuated thrusts, his hips snapping forward to push deeper into the wet heat of your mouth with deep grunts and growls. You grabbed onto his jean-clad thighs for balance, digging your fingers into the rough fabric as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying your best not to fight the constant intrusion despite how your body wanted to.

Every forward snap of his hips made his belt buckle jingle beside your ear. Lewd gags and choked little noises escaping you with every thrust as the thick head of his cock battered the back of your mouth.

“Fuck…” Tim hissed through gritted teeth, tugging your hair. “That’s it—just take it. Christ, your mouth feels so goddamn good.”

He moaned when you gagged harder around him, his hips stuttering for a second before he pushed in again, a little deeper this time.

“Shit—easy, sweetheart, easy,” he panted, even as he kept thrusting. “I know it’s a lot—mmh—but your choking is so pretty. C’mon, try again.”

You grunted around him with every deep push, spit dripping down your chin as your throat convulsed. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, but you didn’t pull away. You held onto his thighs tighter, trying to take deep breaths of air through your nose whenever he pulled back.

Tim cursed under his breath, half at you, half at himself.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this to you… not like this—ah, shit—” He groaned loudly as you swallowed around him. “But you feel too fucking good. This greedy little mouth… sucking me like you were made for it.”

Tim slowed his hips, easing you forward until just the thick middle of his cock rested between your lips. He let you suck him slowly, dragging your wrapped lips from the middle of his shaft all the way up to the swollen, leaking tip.

“Relax,” he sighed. “Don’t fight it. You’re gonna take all of me.”

A sharp jolt of nervousness shot through you like electricity, but it only made the heat between your legs throb harder. You blinked slowly with glassy eyes, and nodded around him.

He cupped the back of your head firmer. “Lean your head back a little… yeah, just like that. Open wider for me, doll. Relax your throat. Let me give you what you want.”

You did as he said, tilting your head back and opening your mouth as wide as you could, sucking gently on the tip while your tongue swirled around it.

Tim started pushing in again. This time he didn’t stop where he had before.

You felt the prominent vein along his shaft slide over your tongue as he fed more of his thick cock into your mouth. Your jaw ached from the stretch, especially when he reached the widest part of him. You coughed around his length as the head pressed firmly against the tight entrance of your throat.

“Easy… easy,” Tim breathed, holding you still. “Just breathe through your nose.”

He abused that spot, shallowly fucking the head of his cock against the beginning of your throat with small, insistent nudges that made you gag and choke wetly around him. Spit dripped down your chin in messy strings.

“Relax your throat,” he grit out. “Let me in. Come on, sweetheart, open up for me. I know you can take it.”

You whimpered around his cock, tears slipping down your cheeks again, but you tried—focusing on his voice, on relaxing your throat even as your body instinctively fought the intrusion, on every buzzing nerve in your head.

He pushed forward again, feeding more of his thick cock past the uncooperative ring of muscle at the back of your throat. The stretch burned, and you choked around him, again and again, but Tim didn’t pull back.

“C’mon,” he growled. “Let it happen.”

You tried. God, you tried. But the deeper he went, the harder it became. It was like he was pushing into your brain. You couldn’t tell if you were more frustrated that you weren’t being choked on his cock, or that him choking you like this wasn’t working.

“Look at me.”

You forced your watery eyes to peel open and up to his. The intensity in his stare was almost too much—you had nowhere else to look. Only his tan skin, dark hair, and everything you never knew you wanted so badly.

“Just focus here,” he muttered. “Keep lookin’ at me.”

He kept pushing, inch by inch, until the widest part of his cock forced its way past that tight ring. Your throat spasmed violently around him. You coughed and gagged, your body jerking and trying to pull away, but Tim held your head firmly in place, refusing to let you pull away.

“Shh. Relax… just relax,” he growled, trying to be soothing even as his own breathing grew ragged. “You’re doin’… so good. Takin’ me so deep. Fuck, I can feel your throat squeezin’ me…”

Finally, with one last slow push, he bottomed out.

Your nose pressed flush against his pelvis, buried in the coarse patch of dark hair. His length throbbed deep down your throat, completely cutting off your air. The fullness was overwhelming to an alarming rate. 

Tim let out a long groan, his hips jerking and settling as he held you there.

“Jesus Christ… all the way. You got every fuckin’ inch.” His voice was hoarse, something you’d never really heard before. “Good. Such a good fucking job for me.”

You were getting lightheaded fast.

The world blurred at the edges, a warm, floaty haze settling over everything. Your throat fluttered and squeezed around the thick length of Tim’s cock, every tiny twitch and throb pulling another noise from him. But underneath the strain, the ache, the burning stretch… you felt nothing but bliss.

He’d bottomed out completely. The heavy head of his cock nestled deep in your throat like it belonged there. It felt like a bell had rung somewhere inside your skull—a deep, resonant thrum. The pressure, the fullness, the way your body fought and then haphazardly surrendered… it was overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t breathe. You were gagging softly around him, tears streaming down your face, but none of it mattered. It felt too good. Like being choked from the inside out. Like something filthy touching a part of you no one else had ever reached.

Tim’s hand slid tenderly over your wet cheek, his thumb brushing away some of the tears as he looked down at you.

“So pretty,” he rasped. “So warm.”

His hand drifted lower, cupping under your jaw for a moment, petting you almost sweetly. Then it kept going.

You felt his palm settle over the front of your throat.

Your dazed eyes blinked into focus.

Tim’s fingers curled around your neck, squeezing with a good amount of pressure while his cock stayed buried. Your hand flew up and gripped his forearm where you felt it. A muffled whine vibrated around his length as your vision began to tunnel, black creeping in at the edges. Your head felt like it was floating, pulsing with white-hot heat, but the lack of air made everything sharper and softer at the same time. Everything was contradictory.

“Settle down… I’ve got you,” Tim murmured. “Look at you. You’re doing great.”

He kept the pressure steady, not crushing, but firm enough that every shallow, failed attempt at breath turned into a weak, pathetic gag that made your head strain further. Your body trembled. You felt like you were burning alive—every nerve lit up, body aching, head spinning so badly you thought you might actually pass out.

And you didn’t care.

It felt too good. The numbness, the heat, the overwhelming fullness, how Tim was looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world… it was addictive.

Tim’s thumb stroked over the front of your throat, feeling the way his own cock bulged there as he held you pinned.

You gazed up at him through puffy, tear-blurred eyes, barely separating where his face began and the porch lights ended. But what you could see was flushed raw, his stern mask cracked open to leave nothing but visceral need.

He gave one involuntary bump of his hips, nudging just a little deeper, and cursed sharply under his breath.

“Shit… I’m not gonna last like this,” he growled.

Then something shifted in him. Anxious, restless energy took over, and his hands moved to either side of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he carefully dragged his cock back. You felt every thick inch sliding out of your throat—the sudden rush of air, the wet, obscene pull, the way your throat shuttered and clenched around nothing once he was almost all the way out.

You barely had time to breathe before he thrust back in.

Fuck.

The stretch burned as he pushed deep again and bottomed out. Then he did it again. And again.

Tim started fucking your throat in earnest.

He was growly now, almost animalistic with deep, frustrated grunts escaping him with every rough snap of his hips. He’d pull back halfway, just enough for you to feel the head drag across your tongue, before slamming back in, forcing himself past that tight ring and burying his cock to the hilt.

“Fuck—that’s it,” he rasped, voice breaking. “Take it. Just fuckin’ take it all.”

Your jaw had gone completely slack, your lips stretched wide around the base of him as he used your mouth. Every thrust punched a wet, choked gag out of you. Spit poured down your chin in messy strings, dripping onto your chest and the wooden porch below. Your hands stayed clenched tight on his thighs, holding on for dear life while he fucked your throat with growing urgency. Your body fought desperately for air that never came, but your brain couldn’t be more happy.

Tim’s hand slid from your hair to your cheek, his rough palm surprisingly gentle as he brushed away some of the tears still rolling down your skin. Then his thumb slipped into the corner of your mouth, hooking inside and pulling your lips open even wider, exposing your tongue for him buried under the weight of his length.

You blinked slowly and let your head go completely lax in his hold. You wanted him to use you exactly how he needed.

“I’m close,” he rasped, groaning as his thrusts turned sharp and frantic. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum.”

You looked up at him through wet lashes. His usually neat hair had fallen forward, dark strands messy and sticking to his forehead, hanging into his eyes. He looked completely undone.

“Shit—fuck,” Tim cursed sharply.

He pulled his cock out of your throat in one smooth motion. You gasped in wet, raw breaths, your chest heaving as fresh air finally rushed back into your lungs. Before you could even steady yourself, his thumb tugged your bottom lip down, holding your mouth wide open for him.

He pressed the swollen, leaking tip of his cock right against your tongue and started stroking himself in fast, frantic strokes. His body shook with how close he was.

You whined loudly around him, the desperate sound vibrating against his tip as you looked up at him with teary, needy eyes, silently begging the best you could.

That did it.

Tim practically growled when he came.

Thick, hot ropes of cum spilled across your tongue and flooded your open mouth. He kept stroking himself through it, gritting his teeth hard to stay quiet, his shoulders shaking as pulse after heavy pulse poured over your tongue. You moaned, the taste so satisfying and evidence of your hard work.

“Ah, God… swallow it all,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Swallow what I give you.”

Even as he came, he kept his thumb hooked in the bottom of your mouth, holding you open so he could watch every rope land on your tongue. His whole body trembled with the force of it, his hips twitching as the last few weak spurts dribbled onto your lips.

“Christ.”

When the last of his release had spilled across your tongue, you closed your lips around the sensitive head of his cock and gently sucked.

Tim’s hips twitching at the overstimulation. “Mmnh… you’re gonna kill me.”

You pulled off, then swallowed, feeling the warmth of him slide down your throat. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, so salty and warm.

Exhausted, you slumped down, your chest heaving as you dragged in deep, full breaths. Your head was still spinning, and you could feel the mess of yourself, all the spit and tears drying on your face. You lifted a hand to wipe at your chin, but Tim caught your wrist and swatted it away.

“I got it,” he muttered.

He slid down the wall, his back pressed to the wood as he tucked himself back into his boxers and jeans, quickly fixing his belt. Then he leaned forward, using his rough hands to haphazardly clean the mess from your cheeks and chin. When he was satisfied, he wrapped his hand around your arm and tugged you forward to turn your back against the wall too, your shoulders leaned against the other’s. The warmth of his body grounded you amongst all the haze.

For the first time you could hear it over the rush in your head, the party was still kicking inside, random yelling and loud music still evident against the quiet out here now.

“You okay?”

You looked over at Tim, whose face was the picture of exhaustion, mental and physical. You nodded, bumping your shoulder against his playfully.

He watched you for another second, then turned his head to stare out through the porch rails into the dark woods. The crickets kept chirping like nothing had happened.

“I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he muttered. “Not out here.”

You let out a tired laugh, leaning your head back against the wall.

“You’re dumb if you couldn’t tell how badly I wanted it,” you said, your voice a lot more hoarse than it had started. “I’m more disappointed you didn’t pull something like that sooner. You clearly wanted it, too.”

Tim quietly chuckled, a bit of light breaking through that dark stormcloud that always hovered above his head. For a moment the two of you just sat there, catching your breath and relaxing again. Then you both turned at the same time, your eyes meeting together. You leaned in slowly, and he did the same, faces drawing closer until your lips were barely a breath apart—

“Whoops.”

You both snapped your heads toward the voice.

Brian stood a few feet away, looking mildly awkward but mostly amused, three open beers clutched between his fingers. He was trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, tone far too innocent.

Tim let out a long, exhausted sigh and dragged a hand down his face. “C’mon, man.”

Brian stepped closer anyway and handed over two of the beers. Tim took them, passing one straight to you without a word. You accepted it gratefully and took a big, long drink. The cold, bitter liquid felt like heaven on your raw throat.

“Toby had a whole stash under his bed,” Brian explained, leaning against the railing across from you. “Party’s kinda revived itself since you two disappeared. People are doing chugging contests again.”

He took a sip of his own beer, eyes flicking between the two of you with barely-hidden amusement.

“So… had a good time mingling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tim shot him a flat look. “How much did you hear?”

Brian shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just guarding the door like a responsible friend looking out for his pals.”

You nearly choked on your beer. Tim just shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he took a long drink from his own bottle.

The three of you sat there for a moment in surprisingly comfortable silence, the distant chaos of the party drifting through the walls while the cool night air brushed over your heated skin and wore off the strain. Brian’s smirk never quite went away, but he didn’t push it.

Tim’s shoulder, however, stayed pressed right against yours.

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

๑ back to my masterlists

You’re taking off your boots when he turns around, unaware of the glare directed towards you. “You really want to know what’s wrong? Seriously?” Tim’s facing you when you look up, and that annoying smile grows on your face. “--Like you don’t know..” He huffs, crossing his arms. 

You just shake your head innocently. “How would I know? We had a successful mission, a nice walk back, I’m about to make some dinner.” You’re fucking with him, but it’s gone over his head. “Oh- Oh a ‘successful’ mission! When you go against the plan, drag a guy into the woods and kill him. Real successful.” 

“Why stalk him when we can just finish him off?” You feign confusion, and Tim groans. It wasn't like you were a brand new proxy. It was really just you not wanting to waste time, you knew that eventually another task would come through to kill the man in the woods. It was just a matter of finishing up early instead of trekking around the forest at night. Tim was more straight laced than that, wanting things to go his way rather than listen to someone else. 

“You’d rather be reckless than safe, that’s fine. Just do it when you’re alone and I don’t have to watch you seduce random guys into the bushes.” He tosses his hands, making his way into the small kitchen. You follow. His subtle confession only makes you more interested. 

“Seduce?” You muse, and he huffs again. Tim’s trying not to look your way. He’s ‘busy’ looking in the fridge while you get closer. “I think I know what’s wrong…maybe…” You tease, poking his arm holding the door open with your index. “You’re jealous?” 

Tim straightens, the fridge slamming closed. He still won’t look at you. “How can I be jealous? You’re annoying.” 

You don’t move, instead standing your ground against his small tantrum. “Well, I just thought with that whole ‘seducing’ line..” Tim cuts you off, a finger raised to shut you up. “Because you did- Maybe if you actually listened for once–”

“What? Gonna punish me?” The hearts in your eyes form as you watch him process your teasing. Your hands behind your back, smile on your face.

Once the dots connect, you see his expression darken. “Punishment’s one word for it.” You think you’re getting away with it before he moves, he never followed up on your weird flirting before. Tim’s build easily engulfs yours, you could never overpower him. He grabs at your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder. You squirm against him even if it doesn’t get you anywhere. His arm holds you in place while he walks you towards his bedroom. His boots thud against the floor, each step feeling the weight of his patience. 

The room at the end of the hall. Just next to yours, you watch it disappear as he kicks the door shut behind him. 

The bed’s made neatly, untouched before you’re thrown onto the cotton sheets. Tim stands at the foot of the mattress, watching you adjust yourself up. You go to speak before he moves his palm over his belt to undo it. “Just shut the fuck up.” He sighs, leather unrolling from each loop before hitting the ground with a loud metal clang. 

His knee bends on the plush sheets, moving in closer towards you. Your thighs part, trembling from the nerves. You’d never made it this far. This was Tim, serious Tim. The guy who’s face flushed red when he couldn’t handle your disobedience. His hands are still fumbling at his zipper with each inch closer towards you. Your eyes trailed up his torso, along his flannel buttons and to his very focused gaze. Your reflexes cause you to try and back up before he closes in on you. 

He’s a better kisser than you imagined. Pushing past your guarded knees to meet you. His stubble scratches against you, but you barely take note. Hands travelling up to his hair, your fingers curling softly while he’s holding onto your hips. Moving you down and pulling down at the belt loops of your jeans. 

“Y…You’re so wet..” He starts breathless from the kiss, you’re too dazed to notice your pants had made it halfway down your thighs. The pads of his index and middle finger prod at the wet center of your underwear. A moan escapes you, eyes clamping shut and unable to see the smirk on his face while he watches you squirm at his light touch.

The fabric pushed to the side, Tim takes his time tracing you with a torturously slow pace. “T-Tim….pleaseee…” You whine quietly, hands balling up over your eyes trying to hide the tears that prickled from his teasing. 

“If this was all it took to get you to behave, I should’a fucked you months ago.” He muses before circling your clit with a heavier hand. Your fists crash into the sheets by your hips, grasping for your life against the tension. “You agree, yeah?” He’s having too much fun. Sitting back on his heels for a better look at you. Tim seemed more than proud of himself for disarming you like this. 

His free hand is pulling your jeans off and tossing them off the bed. Tim is usually more composed, but you can’t help but note his growing impatience. Pushing your thighs up, he moves to saddle you on his still-clothed crotch. His erection budding against your ass through the break in his zipper.

 “You gonna say something? Or just lay there and be good?” 

No response only seems to make him happier, your head bashfully turned to the side. He’s pulling himself out of his boxers and lining up with your entrance. Wet slick coating his head as he massaged along your slit. “Don’t worry, I know you can take it.” Tim dotes while admiring the view. 

He’s thick, a black trail peeking out from under his shirt and leading down and around the base of his shaft. Tim prods against you, a twinge of pain sounding in you as he pushes deeper. Probing against your tight walls, you feel every movement. Every throb of his cock vibrating through you. You’re trying not to cry out, covering your mouth with a still tight fist. 

Tim finds your wrist with his hand that isn’t focused on your core. Pulling your makeshift gag from your lips and moving it to replace his hand over your clit.

You finally look up at him through teary eyes, and see how he’s starting to come undone.

His damp fingers work at the buttons on his flannel, showing dark hair that spread across his chest. His face that familiar blush, brows furrowed in concentration. “You’re tight…fuck…” Through gritted teeth he tries to regain his composure. “Feel how wet..?” He’s looking at you through dark lashes. His appearance was so perverted, you felt like a freak just looking up at him. You tightened again, eliciting a low groan from him. His head rolls back as he moves. Not even checking on you, your hand drifts to hold at the fabric of your slightly bloodied shirt. You stretched without much effort, he fit perfectly after only a minute inside you. Your pussy leaked around him, skin meeting skin filled the room as he managed to find a rhythm. 

His thumbs pressed into your hips, his grip firm while he fucked into you. Your head spinning with every thrust, every deep breath to compose himself, every heated look into your eyes. 

You don’t remember how many times he makes you cum, or when you’d both lost the rest of your clothing. Only that the sky past the old linen curtains had melted into a pitch black, which you only noticed after curling up into Tim’s side. Sweat sticking you both together with no intention of breaking apart any time soon.

“I don’t think I really count that as a punishment, by the way.” You break the silence with your over-used voice. A tired laugh bounces his chest, shaking you before falling back to calm.

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d forget about that line.” Tim retorts back, his hand travelling from rubbing circles into your back to petting your hair down. “It’s okay, Tim.” You smile, raising your head to look at him. “You can always try again next time.”

Tim has gotten used to the fact that something has been nesting inside of him for years. It was parasitic, or rather used to be, at this point it's been a symbiosis. Though he never really understood how any of this was a help to him either, maybe it just wasn't for him to understand. Not like any of this was understandable to him in any way, Masky was probably the only thing (if he even was a thing and not an actual parasite. Or a demon.) that understood all of this in the slightest. And he seemed happy with his host, or whatever Tim was to him.

Or maybe Masky liked residing inside of Tim because of you. You were the only thing the two of them could agree on (not that they could even talk to each other), you were theirs through and through. You barely even registered that there might be something inside of your loving boyfriend. Tim's always been gruff, sure he was softer with you, but still very much his gruff self. So when Masky occasionally decided to possess him, you didn't really see too much of a difference. He was still gruff, the only big difference was that Masky was quieter than Tim was. You were the main yapper in the relationship, and you didn't mind it whatsoever. Though sometimes the unnerving stare Masky gave you was giving you the creeps, Tim's stare was never that intense. At least not as far as you could remember. Still, you just brushed it off as him having a bad day and went about your day.

So really, there wasn't a huge difference in the way the two of them treated you. Mainly because Tim tried to keep Masky as far as possible away from you. The keyword is tried.

Because the universe had a very cruel sense of humor, one that Tim had cursed time and time again. Of course Masky just somehow became a second, well, him. It was like staring into a fucked up mirror, they looked identical. He had no idea how to even begin to explain why there were two of him now. There probably wasn't even a logical explanation to any of this in the first place. You knew about his family, there wasn't even a point in trying to pass Masky off as his long list twin or some other bullshit.

"Out of your element?" Masky's voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he lounged on the couch, a bottle of beer hanging between his fingers. He was the very picture of nonchalance while Tim was losing his mind.

Tim's jaw tightened slightly, he wanted to strangle him. Or well himself, in some very very weird way. This was like a plot of some shitty fucking horror movie or teen movie. Maybe both. The way he could just say everything was fine, like nothing was wrong, while he had to come up with a convincing lie made his blood boil.

"You could at least pretend to care about this." He snapped at him, turning towards him. God, it creeped him out how similar they looked. "You're just as fucked as me when she comes in, and you know that."

Masky tilted his head after taking a long sip of the beer, not saying anything. "It actually isn't my issue. She likes me better anyway."

That fucker knew what he was doing, he had to. In the blink of an eye, Tim was on him. The beer bottle flew to the ground, shattering with a loudly as beer seeped into the cracks of the floor boards. They stumbled through the living room, Tim's fist connected with Masky's face. A sickening crunch was heard as he towered over him, chest heaving. Blood streamed down Masky's face as he panted just as harshly. But it took barely any time before his own fist connected with Tim's jaw and they were back to fighting each other like two territorial stags. Minus the horns.

Blood was dripping on the floor as they both stood on wobbling legs. Bruises marring their faces, though mostly covered by blood. Neither had any idea which blood splatter belonged to who, but that was the last though on their mind right now. They looked horrible. And still two seconds away from beating each other up again. All because of you. Somehow.

"And you always blamed me for your violence. Maybe it was your own all the time, Tim." Masky chuckled roughly before spitting blood on the ground, looking at him. "Can't blame shit if you start charging like a bull just because I said she likes me bet-"

"Shut the fuck up." Tim snarled, wiping away the blood from the corner of his mouth, which just smudged it. "You have no fucking claim over her and you damn well know it too."

Before it could escalate any further, you finally came back in. Both of their heads immediately snapped towards you. Or rather the sound of you taking off your shoes and jacket, complaining about whatever happened while you were gone. It was normal. They knew this was normal. But nothing about this was normal to them and for a moment, even Masky seemed to panic internally. So much for being the nonchalant one out of the two men.

"Hide." Tim hissed, which brought him an offended look from Masky. "Don't look at me like I insulted your mama. Fuckin' hide."

But even that was too late as you finally came into the living room, seeing Tim. Twice. Both bloody and bruised, their clothes and hair disheveled. And while you thought disheveled Tim was one of the hottest things ever, this was certainly weird enough.

"So..." you started slowly, trying to gather your thoughts.

"Listen, baby. I know this looks weird. Believe me. But I can explain this." Tim intercepted, and he somehow regretted the word vomit that left his mouth after. "This guy's been here the entire time. Not...not like this, obviously. But in me...not like that but as in demon possession or some shit. I don't even know what he is myself but he's here now and it fuckin' sucks. Hun, you gotta believe me."

Tim sounded pleading. Which was new to both of you, he never begged. Usually you were the one begging him.

After that horrendous explanation, your eyes flicked over to Masky, who nodded in reply. It was surprising, you didn't think demons existed. But at the same time, you weren't surprised in the slightest. Not with the people Tim talked about sometimes, especially his hate towards this Jeff fellow or his own boss. You're pretty sure you saw some huge man with grey skin in the woods behind your home once. So, maybe it was normal in Tim's world.

"Well...what do you want for dinner?" You asked, the question so innocent and domestic that Tim thought he died and went to heaven for a good three seconds. Even Masky seemed to be taken aback by how easily you seemed to handle all of this. "Clean yourselves and the blood from my floors first. You made the mess, you clean it."

You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.

By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.

And things had only been official for a week.

You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.

He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.

Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move

Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.

You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.

“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.

You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.

“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.

Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”

He slid deeper for emphasis.

You didn’t.

You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.

“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.

Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.

This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.

Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.

“Better?” The man’s question was simple.

Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.

You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.

Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.

“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”

“I—I know, I just can’t—”

At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.

You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.

“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”

The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.

“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”

“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”

“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”

But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.

Maybe you’d never found that place after all.

This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.

You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.

Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”

“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.

Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.

With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.

You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.

“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”

Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.

It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.

“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.

“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”

Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.

Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.

He still held onto your other hand tight.

Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.

Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:

“Higher.”

“Higher?”

“Um, to the…to the left.”

Simon tilted his hips left.

Yes.

That was just it. So close.

Almost…

Or, maybe…

“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”

Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.

Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”

The grin above you stretched even wider.

“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.

“Right there.” You nodded furiously.

A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.

“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.

“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”

Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.

The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.

Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.

You realized as much when he whispered it to you.

“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.

“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.

“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”

The ones that you’d been with before.

You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.

Simon was back inside you in a blink.

Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.

He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.

Vindicated.

“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”

You nodded in agreement.

You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.

“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”

When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.

And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.

Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.

“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.

His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.

You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”

“Feel good when I hit it?”

“Fucking perfect, Si.”

You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”

“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”

“Go on then, love.”

And, shortly, you did.

Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.

Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.

It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”

You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.

He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.