DJunkie's Junk

sweet enough that the idea of having sex with him stopped feeling like something insurmountable and started feeling more like excitement curling through your veins instead of terror.

so you told him. over dinner one evening. all casual.

he'd looked up from his pasta, nodded. "want me to… book a hotel? or a cabin? you wanted to go away for the weekend, anyway." a pause and then, "or is that too much pressure?"

you'd blinked. once. twice. like the idea of making an occasion of it hadn't even crossed your mind. you'd swallowed softly and then nodded. "yeah. that would be… nice actually." but then you'd pulled a face - eyebrows knitted together, lips purses. "…what if i bleed on their sheets?" like the idea of inconveniencing hotel or air b&b staff was more concerning to you than the fact you might bleed at all.

then it was simon's turn to blink. "… i'll bring some blankets. if yer that worried love." he'd offered back - not mocking. just cataloguing all the things he can do to make this less stressful for you. there's a pause, "might not bleed. not everyone does."

you'd stared at him.

he'd shrugged.

"been doin' some… recon. about how to make it easier for you." he'd admitted quietly. "not… done this with someone who ain't before. don't want to… traumatise you or some shite. want you to enjoy it. not suffer though it."

your heart had flared warm in your chest.

you'd smiled softly down into your pasta.

"cabin would be nice."

the drive was quiet, just the low sound of what you teasingly called simon's dad rock coming from the car speakers. his right hand was on the wheel; left resting on your knee whenever he didn't need to change gears, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on the side of your knee.

"love, i want t' talk before we get there."

you spine stiffens automatically at the words, eyes flaring wide as your head snaps around to look at him.

the corners of his lips twitch.

"not like that love. you don't need t' act like i'm sendin' you to the headteachers office."

you can't help but laugh - a soft little huff of air as your shoulder relax.

"sorry, habit." you murmur back, slumping back into the seat. "so, if i'm not in trouble, what do you want to talk about, si?"

he rolls his eyes. "in trouble? when th' fuck 'ave you ever been in trouble with me love?" he grumbles back, but the crinkles in the corners of his eyes give away that he's nowhere near mad. there's a moment of silence - not heavy, but there - before he continues carefully, "i just want to talk about… expectations. or a lack of 'em really."

you open your mouth to interject. he squeezes your knee to stop you.

"jus' let me talk a minute love." he says softly, glancing across at you for just a split second. "i jus' want to be clear with you. we're goin' away for the weekend. that's all. i know we've said we'd… y'know. but if you don't want to? if you change yer mind? at any time? that's fine love. i just want t' 'ave a nice weekend with you. that's all."

you're quiet for a moment, warmth flaring in your chest. that feeling that's so close to love you can almost reach out and grab it. for a moment you don't know what to say, how to shape a sentence that conveys how much you appreciate that - or how sure you actually are about this weekend. and when you open your mouth? nothing eloquent comes out.

"i bought fancy knickers."

simon's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road. he clears his throat slightly, absolutely shoving the image of you in whatever you mean by fancy knickers somewhere deep in the back of his brain so he doesn't drive you both into a ditch.

you bite your lip, suppress a laugh that threatens to bubble out of your throat. "i just mean… i went out and bought special pants for the occasion. i've been uh, looking forward to it. but… thank you. for being so sweet about it."

he glances sidelong at you, eyebrows pinched into a frown "it's not sweet. it's basic consent, love." he says quietly, squeezing your knee again and for a moment you think he's got more serious talk to get out of his system before you get to your destination; but then his mouth twitches in the corners, "but i am lookin' forward to seein' these fancy knickers, in that case."

simon has outdone himself with his choice of weekend getaway destination.

a cabin nestled in the clearing of a forest. log burner. claw foot bathtub on the deck.

no neighbours for miles; unless you count the owls currently hooting from the trees.

it's perfect.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, "go unpack. i'll put th' kettle on."

forty minutes later you're curled into simon's side on the back deck, mug clutched in both hands, both just staring at the night sky with quiet awe; the stars visible here in a way they aren't back home.

your new fancy knickers and matching bra have already been slipped on under your sweatpants and hoodie. simon looks down at you, at how soft and open your face looks; the way your jaw hangs slightly loose with amazement as you look up at the sky. his chest flares warm, unable to stop the way his entire expression softens.

"i've been under a lot of nice skies, all over the world." he says quietly. "but this one might be my favourite."

he doesn't need to say it's because you're there. you can tell from the way his arm tightens around your shoulders, the way he leans his weight into you slightly.

you melt inside. like butter left on the counter on a hot day. that same warm feeling from the car flaring in your chest as you tilt your face to his.

then you're kissing him. mug discarded on the deck. half crawled into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

for the first time in the months you've been together you're not holding anything back. you're not trying to leash yourself to stop this going further than you're ready for. you're all in.

simon can feel the difference. the way you're letting the energy you usually keep simmering under your skin out into the air around you; the way you kiss him deeper, let your hands wander over his chest and biceps.

he's instantly, painfully hard in his sweatpants.

and acutely aware of the fact that you can tell. that the fabric of his sweats does nothing to hide the way he's hardened underneath you, that he's thick and heavy against your inner thigh where you're now practically straddling him. he tenses slightly underneath you; not able to control his reaction but hesitant to be the one to take the next step.

but then you groan into his mouth.

the sound goes straight to his core.

he scoops you up in his arms without hesitation, carrying you through the cabin and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

"christ, love. those really are fancy knickers."

you don't think you've ever seen an expression on simon's face quite like the one he wearing now, staring down at you sprawled out beneath him, clothes removed with enough care it made your heart ache.

reverent. that's the only word for it.

"yer really… jesus. yer fuckin' beautiful dove, you know that, right?"

your cheeks heat automatically at the compliment, "it's the underwear. it's doing a lot of the heavy lifting." you reply, mock serious - deflecting.

simon rolls his eyes. "shut up. daft bint. s'all you."

before you can retort he pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, and the only word you're left capable of is "fuck."

you reach out; trace your fingers over the scars that criss cross his torso like a roadmap of everything he's survived. the muscle of his chest and stomach is solid; but there's a soft layer of fat over his abdomen that he gets between deployments - the layer that makes him feel warm and soft and human; not just the soldier everyone else sees.

simon's breath hitches when your nails graze lower, but he catches your wrist, bringing your open palm to his lips to press a kiss against the centre of it.

"lay back for me, love." he murmurs, "i'm takin' care of you first."

you nod, heart slamming in your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it.

your bra comes off first; carefully unhooked and pulled away from your body, placed carefully on the side next to you.

your underwear comes next, the soft black lace you knew was perfect the moment you picked it out in the store. cool air hits your skin as he tugs them down your calves and you fight the instinct to close your legs.

simon looks down at you from below his lashes. "yeah. it's not the fancy knickers love. yer just fuckin' beautiful."

simon settles between your legs, lips pressing a trail down your stomach to where your thighs part; and for a moment he hovers above your bare cunt, nose flaring as the warm scent of you hits him.

he groans.

your ears go hot.

he looks up at you, "gonna go down on you now love, alright?"

you manage a short jerk of your head, pupils blown wide as you stare back down at him.

then his mouth is on you.

the last time he did this - that one night on the couch - is burned into simon’s memory. and he remembers, in beautiful high definition, what each little gasp and groan you made sounded like, and what he did to drag them out of you.

the first slow lick from your slit to your clit pulls a shaky sound from your throat, fingers tightening in the sheets next to you.

he doesn’t rush.

has no intention of skipping steps.

he’s treating this like the main event. like if he could just stay between your spread thighs for the rest of the weekend and the two of you didn’t go any further than that he’d be fine with it, happy about it even.

he explores every inch of you with his tongue; licking broad stripes across your entire cunt, before flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit - little patterns that make your thighs tremble.

“si…” you breathe, feeling yourself relax into the mattress with every touch.

simon pulls away to press a kiss against your inner thigh, “okay up there, sweetheart?”

you nod.

vigorously.

then reach to tangle your fingers in his short hair and tug his mouth back towards you with a desperation that surprises even yourself, like now he’s started you really, really don’t want him to stop.

his lips twitch in the corners, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, like you’ve just convinced him you really are okay.

he seals his lips around your clit and hums softly; the vibration shooting straight up your spine and sparking white behind your eyes. you hips jerk, hard; immediately one of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, pressing down gently - reassuring rather than controlling - whilst he continues to work you with his mouth. he sucks softly, then harder, alternating rhythms until your fingers are twisted tightly in his hair and your breathing comes in short, ragged gasps.

it’s messy.

the wet sounds of his mouth fill the quiet of the room - slick, obscene noises that you think should mortify you but actually only turn you on more. he pulls back just to groan softly, eyes flicking up to yours. “yer fuckin’ perfect love. can i open you up proper?”

one finger circles your entrance, spreading slickness - but he waits until he sees your chin jerk in confirmation before pushing in achingly slow. it’s an unfamiliar stretch; his finger thicker than your own, but it’s not unwelcome, not unpleasant. he sinks that first finger to the knuckle before curling it upwards, searching for the soft, spongy part inside you that makes your back arch sharply off the mattress.

“there you are.” he murmurs, a soft kind of satisfaction threaded through his voice.

he doesn’t stop, just keeps working you in a steady rhythm while his mouth finds your clit again.

your eyes flutter shut. body slowly melting into something that feels like syrup and not flesh against the sheets as pleasure crawls through you.

after a few minutes he carefully adds a second finger - immediately slowing when he sees you wince at the slight burn low down in your pelvis, only continuing when he feels your body go soft again. “easy sweetheart.” he murmurs against your folds, the slight pain mixing with pleasure as as he works his fingers in and out, scissoring gently to open you up. your thighs tremble around his ears; you’re gripping his hair too tight, probably hurting him, but he doesn’t complain - if anything he groans against you at the sensation.

you’re right on the edge. stomach tensing, muscles tightening when he pulls back. his mouth and jaw are slick and shiny with you and his eyes are so, so soft when he gazes up at you.

“not yet.” he murmurs, moving so his body covers yours, wiping his face with the back of his hand, leaning down to kiss you. “want t’ see if i can get you there with me inside ya.”

he shifts, stands, tugs his sweatpants and boxers off in one motion.

you swallow. hard. watching his cock spring free - thick, heavy. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.

you have no idea how the fuck he’s meant to fit inside you.

he sees your pinched expression, the nervous flicker in your eyes, and he leans down, crawling back over you, resting his forehead against yours. “we go as slow as you need. you say stop, we stop. you say you need a break, we take a break.” he promises, voice thick with want but edged with control.

he reaches across into the bedside drawer, grabs a bottle of lube he’d clearly tucked away there earlier.

he really did do his research.

your pupils blow wide as he squeezes a generous dollop onto his cock. he wraps a calloused hand around his length and strokes it slowly, spreading the slick shine from base to tip, lower lip sucked between your teeth as he starts to guide himself to your entrance.

the blunt head nudges against you, slipping a little because everything is so wet.

he pushes forwards.

the first inch stings. sharply. you hiss through your teeth, nails digging into his shoulders.

simon freezes immediately. “too much?” he asks, voice strained.

“just… a lot.” you manage, trying to breathe through the burn. “give me a minute.”

he stays perfectly still, barely inside you, dropping soft kisses on your face - your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. he reaches between you, pad of his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles until the edge of pain dulls into an aching fullness. you nod, shaky, but firm.

he sinks in another inch. the stretch is intense - you feel every ridge, every vein as he works himself in deeper; your walls slowly opening up and moulding around him.

then he slips. just a little.

simon is tall - broad and long limbed - and the angle he’s curved himself into is awkward. shoulders hunched, one arm braced at an odd angle so he doesn’t crush you.

his cock slips out completely on the next shallow rock of his hips.

“fuck.” he mutters - frustrated with himself. “sorry love. ‘ang on.”

he tucks a hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher and hooking it over his hip.

the new position makes it easier; opens you up more. so this time when he pushes back in, he slides a little deeper in one smooth glide.

you both groan.

the fullness is overwhelming, foreign, bordering on too much.

but it also feels right in a way that makes your chest ache.

simon’s breathing is ragged against your neck. sweat already coating his skin under your palms. “christ, you feel like fuckin’ heaven. you alright?”

you nod, nails digging into his skin. “move… please.”

he starts rocking into you - slow, shallow thrusts at first. the wet, obscene sound of him moving inside you fills the quiet cabin.

it’s messier than you expected.

your bodies don’t slot together like puzzle pieces; there’s sweat, the awkward shift of limbs, your leg keeps slipping off his hip until he grabs it again.

every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside you, but there’s still a sharp little spark of pain when he finally bottoms out completely. you whimper. simon freezes again. “talk to me dove.”

“it hurts. a bit.” you admit, voice small. “but… don’t stop. please.”

he curses softly and adjusts again, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under the small of your back.

the new angle… changes things. the next thrust makes your toes curl for a reason that isn’t pain. pleasure starts overtaking discomfort -and on the next snap of his hips you rock up to meet him, chasing the sensation. his fingers press firmer against the sensitive little bundle of nerves just above where he's buried inside you.

you feel your cunt flutter around him.

he lets out a completely wrecked sound.

"that's it." simon hisses through his teeth. "yer doin' so fuckin' well love."

the praise goes straight to your head, to your core, setting alight nerves you didn't know could be affected by words.

both your movements grow less coordinated, more desperate. sweat gathers in the space between your bodies. his hips snap a little harder, still careful but less restrained; the slap of skin on skin louder now. his hand that's not still slowly stroking your clit between your bodies finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head.

the tenderness of the movement makes your eyes sting.

you come suddenly - a sharp, peak that makes you clamp down around him. it's an unfamiliar wave of pleasure, coming with him inside you like that, and you let out a long, low moan that he feels in his bones, that he feels burning its way into his brain as a new core memory.

simon groans, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. the overstimulation makes you whine, but you can tell from the way he's tensing that he’s close too.

“gonna come inside you.” he bites out, voice wrecked. “that okay?”

you nod frantically, legs tightening around him. a few more deep, messy thrusts and he buries himself inside you with a broken groan, hips jerking as his own orgasm hits. thick pulses of heat flood you, his cock twitching, face dropped into the curve of your shoulder as he presses his mouth against where your pulse is hammering in your throat.

neither of you move. you just stay wrapped in a little bubble of oh fuck that just happened. simon's collapsed half on top of you, propped up on one elbow so he doesn't smother you completely with his body. his breath is warm on your neck, heart slamming in his chest against your arm.

“you okay love?”

simon's voice is gentler than you've ever heard it, cautious in a way that you know he only ever is with you.

“yeah.” you breathe back. “i’m good.” you shift slightly underneath him, wincing as you unhook your legs from his waist.

he notices. immediately shifts so you can untangle yourselves properly, sliding out of you with a soft, slick noise.

you wince again, glance down, see a faint smear on your thigh; cum, slick - both tinged faintly with pink - and stare down in fascination at the physical evidence of what you've both done lingering on your skin like a brand.

he follows your gaze, jaw tensing when he sees the faint pink mixed into your shared fluids. “you sure you're okay?”

you pull him down next to you, curl into his chest, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. “i'm good. i promise. i’m… i’m happy, si.” there's a brief pause and then you add, almost awkwardly, “...was that okay for you?”

simon leans down and kisses you slowly, before pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead on yours. “you were perfect.” he murmurs. “that was perfect.”

you laugh weakly. “that was not perfect. we were like… tangled giraffes at one point.”

he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth. “yeah, well. still got there in th’ end. still perfect.” he drags his knuckles down your cheekbone, eyes soft in the low lamplight. “no regrets?”

“none.” you whisper fiercely - and you mean it. you ache in the best and worst ways, but the warmth in your chest is brighter than any discomfort. “thank you. for not rushing me. for… that.” simon kisses you again, slower this time, then carefully climbs off the bed. “stay there, dove. i’ll get a cloth and run th’ bath. i reckon that fuckin’ clawfoot thing outside looked big enough for both of us.”

you watch him pad naked across the room - huge, scarred, relaxed in a way you rarely ever see him - and feel a rush of affection so strong it almost hurts.

you get that same pang when he wipes down your thighs with a warm, damp cloth and again when he deposits you in the bathtub on the deck, climbing in behind you without a second thought.

simon settles you both into the warm water, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, the night breeze ghosting over both of your skin. one of his hands strokes lazily up and down your arm without thought.

“next time we’ll try you on top,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “see if we can avoid the giraffe shite.”

you laugh, loud and free in the quiet night, and tilt your head back to kiss him again properly.

yeah, you're already looking forward to the next time.