Stardust

you really were such a marvel, weren’t you? a force to truly be reckoned with.

as sweat had started to cling to his skin, turning the palms of his hands clammy, and as the ends of his hair stuck themselves to the nape of his neck, joost had found himself stuck. not even the end of the world could have moved him from his spot amongst the crowd. in a single breath, almost, you had him hooked, didn't you? obsessed with you.

though honestly, it shouldn't have taken them so long to realise. the clues had all been there, right underneath their noses – stuntje, bram, teun, lyon. how they’d each had to queue to get in and then pay in cash on the door, despite it only, at least seeming to be a regular, old run-of-the-mill bar on the city outskirts. how it was wall-to-wall heaving with people all clad in heavy, dark leather and silver chains, leaving them with hardly enough room to stand on their own.

but the countless shots of tequila from the last three bars had still coursed heavily through their veins, clouding their judgements and skewing their eyesights. none of them had taken any notice of all the posters stuck up around the room, but even if they had, they wouldn't have thought to google translate them. priority one had been figuring out who’s round it was then, and priority two was trying to spot a bottle of don julio behind the bar. 

it took the sudden, deafening strum of an electric guitar to make them all jump enough to spill a few drops of their drinks. as lyon had glanced up from his phone, already in search of the next bar to crawl to, joost was turning on his heel to follow the sound across the room, around a corner, leaving the rest of them to all trail behind him. seeing the make-shift stage set up right against the far back wall; all the mic stands, guitar peddles, and miscellaneous cables that drowned it — the penny had finally dropped. 

aimlessly, they had wandered into your show without even realising it. an exclusive, ‘one night only’  intimate show in one of the last few countries in europe that your band hadn’t played in yet. and bram had been the first one to say it – a little in awe but also ever so slightly, harmlessly mocking the situation, asking if they’d all somehow stumbled into a ‘my chemical romance concert circa 2006’. it was only because of that, that joost had taken another sip of his double-tequila, eager to settle the disappoint in his chest as he readied himself to leave after only the first song or two. the whole ‘goth’ thing wasn't exactly to everyone’s tastes; joost had already accepted that he was bound to be outnumbered in wanting to stay.

except then, you had sauntered on stage, hadn’t you? with your band-mates all following in tow. you, in all of your delicate, black lace; your sweet, saccharine smile, and a voice so heavenly that he could only stand there and watch you sing with parted lips, hypnotised. by the third song in he was already looking you up on every platform that he could think of. on instagram, some part of him stopped working properly when he’d seen that ‘follow back’ button staring right back at him.

it had flustered him terribly. had him clicking on it and following you back without any hesitation or regard of the potential ramifications. as stuntje had begun to tease, yelling something about ‘goth mommies’ right into his ear, he’d only shaken his head and tried to swat him away, unable to hide the soft rosiness of his cheeks. 

so the end of your show had come as quite a relief, actually. it gave him the chance to eventually step outside for a moment, to shake all the sweat from his hair with the tips of his fingers and take a heavy, big deep breath in. as the others all lost themselves in the debate of ‘bar number five vs mcdonald’s’, joost was busy chain-smoking through his pack of cigarettes and trying to brainstorm different ways he could possibly collaborate with you somehow.

maybe he could teach you how to rap or something; maybe you could be the one to finally teach him how to sing.

because he just couldn’t get you out of his head. over the sound of a dozen other conversations all happening around him, he could still hear the sound of your voice in his ears, see the sight of you glowing on stage every time that he so much as blinked. 

“oh shit, wait, isn’t that…?”  he ignored the slight nudge to his ribs, his head still down, gaze still fixed on his shoes. “fuck, okay, she’s coming right for you, man. wake up.”

and you were, weren’t you? making a straight fucking beeline for him, with the brightest fucking grin tugging at your lips. 

the dark blouse and long, awkward skirt that you’d been wearing on stage still cling to your skin, blowing in the wind that would have sent a chill straight down your spine if it wasn’t for the heavy coat that you now wear. your shoulders carry most of the weight of the denim that almost swallows you whole, threatening to fall down past your hands and hanging around your ankles. though somehow in spite of the weather, you still radiate warmth.

and it throws joost right off his axis. not at your lips or around your eyes, there’s not a single smudge of anything anywhere. there’s no pinkness to your face, or droplets of sweat settling along your hairline. it’s all too good to be true — you’re standing right in front of him now, close enough for him to see the faint smile lines that frame your mouth, and it’s just perfect. 

“of all people i thought i’d see here, you really weren’t one of them.”  he only manages a nervous, half-smile before you’re continuing with an inked hand splayed out across your heart. “i have to admit that it’s been a while, but i used to watch you on youtube all the time; do you still go by unicorn-joost?” 

his friends all cough simultaneously, their shoulders jolting, each and every one of them failing at trying to hide their sudden cackles. they’re a little too amused by the simple, almost innocent translation of his old social media name, laughing in a way that has no malice behind it at all, but holds just enough of something that joost refuses to entertain it. he can tell that you’re trying — hear how there’s a rich softness to your accent that’s indicative of some place else. english isn’t your first language either; to join in would feel almost cruel to him.

he only smiles at you sweetly as he shakes his head, endeared by just how equally giddy you seem to be. “just joost now… i’ve grown up.”

and your voice wavers just enough for him to hear it when you finally return the favour and introduce yourself, speaking your name and giggling when he tries to repeat it back to you in your accent.

“did you enjoy the show, joost?”  

you really don’t expect him to say ‘yes!’ as feverishly as he does. 

maybe it’s not fair of you to judge him or any of his friends as so, but it feels too safe to have assumed that none of them were exactly your intended demographic. they stick out like sore thumbs amongst the rest of your fans; the only ones adorning any sort of colour in their outfits, one of which in a minecraft t-shirt, and a severe lack of any type of leather. you can see it on their faces, feel it in their body language, that they’re just not used to being around so many people that all look like you. it’s cute.

but it means that you’re left speechless when joost veers away from the script that you’d had ready in your head. you were prepared for a cordial ‘yeah, it wasn’t bad!’ and nothing more; something a little obvious in its lack of sincerity. you’re not quite sure what to do with it when he just starts rambling instead, apologising for not having heard of you before, but promising that it was one of the best performances that he’s yet to see. how his friends are all nodding behind him whilst he’s waving his hands around, taking drags of his cigarette in between breaths, calling you captivating and ‘unlike anything that he’s ever seen’. 

a blush of your own starts to creep it’s way up the back of your neck as you finally find the right words to say, clutching onto your own hands just to stop them from shaking. “thank you, you don’t…you have no idea how much that means to me, wow.”

“how do you do that, by the way?”  he waggles a finger in front of his eyes, head tilting to the side. “i wear the eyeliner for my own shows sometimes, but it never stays right.”

you try to answer without stumbling over any syllables, gazing into the blue of his eyes and already trying to picture how they’d look with a thick streak of black along their waterlines. but then you stop, flinching, taking a step or two closer to him at the sound of yelling from behind you. it’s only a group of guys taking turns downing their drinks and competing to see who can do it the fastest, but they’re loud enough for you to lose all train of thought. 

it’s instinctive the way that joost then brings his arm up high around your shoulders, keeping his hand balled up into a loose fist as he guides you to stand even further into his side. 

“yeah, i’m not a big fan of loud noises either.”  he pauses only to curl his spine, bending down until he’s level with your ear. “do you want to move somewhere quieter? would that be better?”

when you nod, he readjusts, the warmth of his palm finding your lower back as he starts to lead the way. 

at the very far end of the smoking area, hidden ever so slightly around another corner, is a picnic bench that you’re surprised to see no one else has found yet. it’s old wood is a little green, a little rotted, but it’s dry enough for you to sit down on without the damp soaking through your clothes. you’re lighting up a cigarette of your own as soon as you’re settled, cocking an eyebrow at the look on joost’s face as he sits down across from you.

“surprised that i smoke too?”

he grins at you again, shrugging. “with a voice like that, a little. you’re not so…’rahrahrah’ with it.”

immediately you choke on that first heavy inhale of smoke, your head hanging, coughing hard enough for your throat to burn as you laugh. it’s through watery eyes that you watch him start to crack too, giggling as he squints behind the thick, dark frames of his glasses. he’s only laughing because you are, and you’re only still laughing because he is.

“what was that?!”

“i was trying to do the smokers voice thing!”

“you sounded like that skeleton with the…the, fuck, i don’t know what the  word for it is in english.”

except joost already knows exactly what you’re trying to say because then his eyes are lighting up, and he’s nodding at you again as he starts to act it out, almost, hitting an imaginary bin-lid with an invisible bat of some kind. 

“ja ja ja ja, the one with the stick!” 

“yes!”

a subtle aching starts to seep into your cheeks, pulling uncomfortably at your lips — it’s just becoming so easy with him, isn’t it? and it means that you don’t even think to check your phone that’s slowly buzzing itself to death inside your pocket. in no more than an hour somehow, joost already has you wrapped irrevocably around his finger, hanging off his every word.

your elbows resting on the table, hands cupped underneath and propping up your chin, but still clutching onto the cigarette that’s long since burnt itself out all the way down to the filter. you’re watching him throw his hands around again because he’s lost himself inside a story about one of his nephews dressing up as a skeleton for halloween one year. you’re smiling so much that it hurts. 

it does nothing but feed right into his ego. it’s rare that he’s so extroverted with someone like this, someone like you, someone that could easily make his knees buckle with a single glance. he’s the type to quickly blush at mere eye-contact, unable to do much other than simply nod politely when spoken to. you’re bringing out something new in him, aren’t you? a confidence that he’s just not used to yet.

it means that neither of you realise it when the time starts to slip away right through your fingers. it’s just too hard of a thing to help — the way that the conversation flows from one topic to the next as though you’re more old friends catching up than anything else. 

suddenly joost knows each of your bandmates by name, mannerism, and most embarrassing moment of the tour so far. you learn of his friends beyond their art and online personas, from each of the little vlogs and tiktoks that he has saved of them on his phone. you tell him a little too much about your new ‘resident evil’ obsession; he returns the favour by admitting his recent mexican wrestling one. 

the only thing that you both dare to leave unsaid is any mention of your families. it’s only because you remember enough from watching him back on youtube that you know better than to ask; you’re not exactly in a rush to explain your own situation, either. 

and it’s not until you’re half way through trying to list each of your favourite films without laughing, because somehow you have just a few too many in common with him to wrap your head around, that you’re interrupted. someone in a t-shirt bearing the bar’s logo stands beside you with an almost blank expression, speaking a language neither of you can understand. after a moment of awkward silence, she finally clears her throat and sighs, rolling her eyes slightly.

“we close in thirty minutes so we’re asking for last drinks. can i get you anything?” 

joost answers hesitantly on your behalf, shaking his head ‘no’ with a hint of a smile on his face as he reassures whoever it is that you’ll be leaving in just a minute. when you don’t dispute it, disappointment starts to lower itself onto his chest, the weight of it crushing, but it’s subtle enough that it only brings a slight furrow to his eyebrows. 

you just can’t believe what time it is.

for seemingly the first time all night, it occurs to you to finally dig your phone out of your coat pocket and dismiss the low battery warning. the time that you’re confronted with, ‘00:53am’ sends a small shock to your system, only because it means that you’ve been out here with him for almost three hours now. several texts from your bandmates clutter your lockscreen, and they all read relatively the same.

‘we got the hint ;) and went to go get food. we’ll probs be back at the hotel by the time ur done. plz be safe we have no room for a baby on the bus. see u tomo’ 

a slow heat rises to your cheeks, staining them a soft pink despite the cooler breeze that still whips around you every now and then. you don’t look up until joost starts to stand, a blush that matches your own creeping its way up the sides of his neck. and then you don’t stop to ask why he seems to be almost just as flustered as you know that you are, as you copy his movements, rising to your feet with a shy reluctance.

you’re still trying to grasp the certain implications of what your friends had said. it makes you a little dizzy actually, imagining it, and realising just how much you want it.

“my uh, my hotel’s not that far…would you want to come back with me?”  

and the offer almost knocks joost right off his feet, doesn’t it? he finds himself needing to lean back against the bench just to try and stay upright.

the way that you’re smiling up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, tucking strands of fallen hair behind your ears and blushing more out of nervousness than anything else. it’s the first time that he’s truly seeing the effect that he has on you, and it’s killing him. 

he nods softly, grinning without his teeth as he pulls the hood of his jacket up and over his head. “yeah! i’d really like that.” 

he curves an arm around your shoulders again, and you assume that it’s only to keep you close whilst you make your way out, but once you’re out onto the street he doesn’t move, and neither do you. it’s like that, that you both walk the ten minutes back to your hotel, with you tucked gently into his side and listening quietly as he rambles about how beautiful this city is. you ask him about where else he’s been, on tour or otherwise, and he tells you sparing little to no detail. 

but it’s really not too long before you start to lose track of it all, of the finer, almost intimate details of his stories, because it’s the mere sound of joost’s voice that you find yourself so stuck on. the sheer softness of it. how it’s so much deeper than you remember, with just enough gravel to it to make your head spin. 

it feels a little…wrong, despite all things considered, but you just can’t help it. the old leather of your boots hit a puddle, you hear muffled live music spilling out from a lounge as you pass it by, but all you can focus on is the heat pooling beneath you. you think of his voice in your ear, deeper, breathier, groaning. you can’t appreciate where you are, all of the light, and art, and life that surrounds you, because you’re just too caught up in the thought of whatever this is leading to.

you don’t slip out from underneath his hold until you’re faced with the heavy glass doors of your hotel, and you can’t hide the way that your hands shake when you unlock them with your keycard. it’s dawning on you now that you haven’t exactly clarified what you’ve invited him back with you for, and you’re still waiting for him to ask. you want to hope that it’s obvious when you both step into the lift to head up to your floor, and you immediately take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together. 

but you just never really do this, do you? at least not very often. and joost, you know enough about him by now to gather that he’s something of a gentleman, maybe even a little unassuming. you can’t imagine him ever putting an expectation like that on you; if all you wanted was someone to talk to until you fell asleep, you’re almost certain that he really wouldn’t mind that. 

it doesn’t phase you that neither of you have spoken in a while until you’re wandering down a corridor and he’s asking you which room is yours, and you realise that you’re just about to miss it. 

you pull him to a sudden stop alongside you, the momentum of it swinging him around, and now you’re not quite sure what to say with him gazing down at you like this. 

“you okay?”

“are we on the same page about this?”

you meet his eyes and see the ease in them; how his slight frown melts into something so much sweeter as he shrugs. “we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to; trust me, i’m on board no matter what.”

for just a moment you let the words sit, hanging in the air that thickens around you, before you nod, a faint smile tugging at your lips. and it says exactly what you need it to, because then joost is reaching forward to cradle your jaw; your blush deepens at the feeling of his thumbs smoothing along the skin of your cheeks.

“in my country, we would say ‘zo mooi’.” at the tilting of your head, he continues in something akin to a whisper, leaning into you a little closer. “so beautiful.”

you just about manage to breathe out his name in a sigh before he’s kissing you, clutching your face in the palms of his hands so delicately as your noses bump. the subtle taste of tobacco and sugary soda hit your tongue; the coarser hairs of his moustache tickle the very corners of your mouth. when you hook your fingers through the holes of his belt loops, pulling him flush against you, it’s only to anchor yourself down, really. suddenly your knees feel all funny.

and it’s absolutely ruining you, isn’t it? how perfect it all feels. how you just can’t seem to hold back the way that you whine into his mouth when he moves to step back, leaving you to wobble on uneven feet. not even a full second passes before you’re mourning the loss of him sucking on your bottom lip, but it’s enough to remind you of where you still are, standing on the wrong side of your hotel room’s door. 

with your keycard still balanced between your fingers, you unlock it with a single beep. 

“i’m…gonna go freshen up. wait up for me?”

he nods, leaning down to peck your lips again. “i’ll be here.”

the bathroom door clicks shut behind you, the sound of the shower turning on quickly following. now that he’s on his own for a minute, joost can’t contain his excitement anymore. he’s pumping his fist in the air, doing a little shuffle-dance, and taking fit-pics in the mirror before stopping to fix his hair. 

it almost doesn’t feel real. he doesn’t do this. he can count on one hand the amount of one night stands he’s ever had — if that’s all that this is going to be in the end. something not too dissimilar to disappointment starts to settle beneath his skin as he slips off his jacket and shoes, and perches patiently on the edge of your bed. maybe he already likes you a little bit more than he probably should. 

he sends another selfie to his groupchat; the friends of his that are still awake each reply with a combination of emojis that make his stomach twist as he laughs.

“hey…”

joost glances up at the soft sound of your voice, locking his phone and leaving it somewhere on the bedside table. 

you’re standing at the foot of the bed dressed in nothing but a ‘sisters of mercy’ t-shirt that’s several sizes too big for you. the ends of your hair that poke out from the bun sitting on top of your head hang heavy with drops of water, your face fresh and bare of any makeup. it’s looking like this, so disarmed and almost shy, that he really starts to swoon for you, isn’t it?

a hot breath catches in his throat, his voice threatening to crack. “hi.”

you don’t think too much about it as you cross the room, only stopping once you’re in between his spread-apart legs, with your hands smoothing along the short stubble of his cheeks. you feel him melt into the touch, see how the sharp cerulean of his eyes sparkle in the warm lights around him. the subtle curve of his cupids bow, and the beauty mark that sits just above his chin. it’s only now that you’re noticing the ombré of his eyebrows, too. 

“i think you’re beautiful, too.”

and then before he can blush, you’re kissing him again, and it’s his own hands finding the backs of your thighs and squeezing that keeps you steady this time. you also find yourself becoming pliable in his palms, because when he tugs you in closer, you move without any resistance. when he slips his tongue into your mouth and lets his grip wander up onto your hips, you let him, you encourage it. 

in fact, you only stay like for another moment or two before you’re climbing onto his lap, aren’t you? knees falling either side of his own two hips, fingertips dropping from his face down to the hem of his t-shirt to pull on the dark cotton of it until he finally takes the hint, and throws it off and over his head.

he just can’t help but to giggle when you mutter out a string of what he can only guess are swear-words in your first language, your eyes carefully drifting along his pale, bare chest. “good things i hope?”

with your hands resting on his tummy, you nod with parted lips. “very good.”

he’s about to make a joke when you then start to shift, crawling back off him and onto the floor at his feet. you make a strong reach for his belt-buckle as you do so, fighting with the silver heart and feeling how his muscles jump underneath the touch. you only stop because suddenly his hand comes down to clutch yours, making you glance up with a pout.

“hey — only if you want to, okay? i don’t want you thinking that you have to; you don’t.”  despite the way that his cock strains against his jeans at the mere thought, he really does mean it. 

“no, i want to.”  you gulp down the thick saliva that fills your mouth, eyes flickering between his face and his bulge. “please, but i can’t….get this fucking…”

it’s not mocking how joost laughs at you again, almost painfully endeared by just how desperate you are to get to him. a jagged crease cuts right through your eyebrows, a thicker pout pulling on your full, wet lips, and it’s all because you’re still struggling with his buckle, your patience starting to wear a little thin. 

he doesn’t say anything as he takes over, lifting his hips up off the bed as he guides the cracked, black leather back through the old clasp. he just makes it look so easy, doesn’t he? because you blink and suddenly he’s holding it free in his hands, dropping the belt to the floor and letting his jeans sit loose around his thighs.

it gives you such a perfect view of him, of the boxers printed with his own name — how the cotton stretches around his erection, and he just can’t seem to stop twitching underneath your gaze. gently, you curl your fingers beneath the waistband and pull down, your mouth watering again as your hands start to shake. you’re not even sure what you were expecting, but he’s still somehow bigger. 

“keep looking at me like that, and this might be over before we’ve even started.” 

you only grin before you reach forward and hold him throbbing in your hands, hearing how he sucks in a sharp breath at the soft touch. you don’t grant him a moment to catch his breath either, before you’re licking a smooth stripe up from the base to the pink of his tip, swirling your tongue and sucking, watching how his pretty eyes screw shut. 

and it’s all the encouragement you need to keep going, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the very back of your throat. you’re not even halfway.

“f-fuck, schatje.” 

you’re not sure what it means, but you love the way that it falls from his lips.

joost digs his nails into the mattress behind him, needing to lean back and brace himself on his hands just to feel as though he’s still in control of himself. short, strangled huffs fly from his noise, his tummy all tense and cramping, as small beads of sweat start to gather along his hairline. 

maybe there’s a joke to be made about a singer being so good with their mouth, but he doesn’t know, he can’t seem to think with your lips wrapped around him like this. maybe you’re too good at this, bobbing your head as you try to take as much of him as you possibly can, gagging, and using your hands to reach what you can’t fit. 

he reaches forward to cup your face, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away some of the spit from your chin before carefully pulling your hair free from the bun that it’s in. he wouldn’t even know where to begin if you were to have asked him why, so he’s glad that you don’t. he just needs to hold you in any way that he can. 

you feel him lace his fingers through your hair, scratching at your scalp and tugging on your roots every time that you try to push yourself a little further down onto him. it’s really not too hard to tell that he’s holding himself back every time that he does, because his hands are trembling, and as soon as he’s caught his breath, he’s smoothing the messed-up strands back down. 

his head tips forward as his spine slowly curls in; he’s almost hugging your head to him as he whimpers out your name as though it’s some kind of prayer. 

“fuck, wait wait wait, schat, wait.”  

you let him go with a little ‘pop!’. there’s just a few too many tears welled up behind your waterlines to fully see the fucked-out look on his face, and your throat’s too spent to then speak without your voice cracking. “everything okay?”

joost can only laugh, can’t he? as he pulls you up into another kiss by the hold that he still has on your face. “yeah…i just…i was getting really close.” and then his hands move up to catch the last of the tears in your eyes. “are you?” 

you merely shrug, trying to stifle a small cough. “my throat hurts a little.”

and it’s only because of that, that he finally pulls back, turning around and stretching to reach the bottle of water that he remembers seeing laying on a pillow behind him. it’s open but hardly touched, and something that he insists on holding for you as you take a few sips. 

“better?”  he doesn’t put it down until you nod, and then he’s taking your hands in his to help you stand. a small part of his heart starts to sink at the sight of the sore, red scuff marks on each of your knees. “swap with me, it’s your turn.”

you don’t hesitate. 

as joost moves in turn with you, rising to his feet just to give you the room that you need to take his seat, you lay yourself down across the bed, propping yourself up and resting on your elbows. you watch him stumble trying to kick off his boxers and jeans before settling in between your legs, and you don’t mean to hold your breath for as long as you do when he gently pushes your t-shirt up. you hadn’t bothered to put on any underwear; there’s already a faint coating of your slick stuck to the very inside of your thighs.

it’s the accumulation of the effect that he’s had on you all night, and it renders him fucking speechless. because even as he’s taking you in his grasp and hooking each of your legs over his shoulders, he’s silent, simply staring, losing all of the colour in his eyes to just how wide his pupils dilate. as he flattens his tongue against you and licks a solid stripe up your centre, you hear him take a big deep breath in, taking in your scent. 

“zo lekker…” 

and you don’t get to ask him what it means before you’re suddenly squirming as he grins into you. his hands move to press down against your stomach when your hips buck up from off the bed, forcing you to still despite how he’s sucking on your clit as though it’s some sort of lifeline, and he’ll die if he doesn’t. between that and how he keeps pulling away every few minutes only to blow his cold breath along you, through your folds and laughing at how it makes you shiver, you really don’t stand a chance, do you?

fresh tears spring to your eyes again. with every sharp breath, your tummy caves in on itself a little more. you almost wish that he’d stop moaning at the sheer, sweet taste of you on his tongue, bumping his nose against you as he delves in a little deeper and laps you up, because it’s too much. every vibration sends another jolt up the length of your spine, and your thighs press together around his head. 

“jesus….fuck, joost.”  the words come out all strained and fragmented. you’re very quickly forgetting how to breathe. 

“fuck, i like that.”  he lifts his head up to wipe the wetness from his chin and see for himself the utter state that he’s gotten you in. how your chest is heaving, your face all wrinkly and screwed up with your cheeks just a tad tear-stained. “you should say my name again.”

you all but scream it when his lips wrap around your clit again and refuse to let go. 

clammy hands knot themselves in his hair and pull, and unlike him, you wouldn’t have been able to hold yourself back even if you wanted to. every muscle that lies underneath your skin starts to lock up, cramping, almost turning to stone as you writhe against his mouth. his hands on you aren’t enough to keep you steady anymore; your back is arching up off the bed as he moves his grip down to hold your hips instead. 

you try to push off the mattress — feet digging into the fabric. joost is relentless as he eats you alive, and it’s only by instinct that you’re trying to crawl away. there’s a feeling bubbling up that you just don’t know what to do with, one that’s making you clench around his tongue as you watch him through wet lashes, all starrey-eyed.

“j-joost, fuck, i don’t….i, i fucking, i can’t. oh my god.”

his hold you grows a little stiffer, and he yanks you back down onto his mouth when you manage to wiggle away just a bit. 

“i got you, baby. it’s okay. gonna make you feel so good.”

“joost!”

its when he sucks on your clit again that you cum for the first time, isn’t it? something inside of you snaps, your whole body contorting as you shake, and it well and truly wrecks you beyond all recognition. because as joost sits back on his knees and you drip from his nose all the way down to his chest, you’re curling in on yourself as you struggle to gasp for air. 

piece by piece it feels as though you’re dissolving right into the mattress beneath you, your eyelids heavy and starting to droop. it means that it hardly registers when joost crawls his way up to you and sits just beside your head, brushing the sweat-soaked strands of your hair away and out of your face.

“still with me, schatje?”  his voice isn’t much higher than a whisper.

“mmhm.”  you hum as you slowly roll over onto your back, gazing up at him half-lidded and leaning into the soft touch of his hand still stroking through your hair. “just a little…gone. that was…wow.”

if you could see the look in his eyes, you’d surely blush under the weight of it. “we don’t have to keep going. if you’re too tired, we can sleep. it’s okay.”

“no, no i’m fine i just…can i get some more water please?”

its only after helping you to sit up with him that he holds the bottle to your lips again, with a large, warm palm still cradling your face. and when a dribble of it starts to fall from your bottom lip, he wipes it away on the tip of his thumb, before taking a small gulp himself.  

“then let’s go a little slower, ok? and to be honest, i really don’t think i’m gonna last that long, anyway.”

you simply nod, smiling at him just enough for it to reach your tired eyes. “yeah, that sounds nice. i don’t even…”  and then you lay back down amongst the pillows, beckoning him over with just a small wave of your hand. “i don’t want anything crazy, i just…i want to feel you for a while.”

as soon as joost’s on you, your legs are wrapping around his waist and pulling him down, fingers stretching into the white-blond of his hair as you latch onto him by the nape of his neck. his inked arms are holding himself up by his hands pinned on either side of your head. they start to shake as soon as you start to grind against his cock, whining into his mouth. you can still taste yourself on his tongue — feel that he’s still twitching. 

“you’re really gonna kill me, schat.”

joost shifts slightly; he reaches down and lines himself up, collapsing a little into the curve of your neck as he hisses. because you’re just so warm, aren’t you? and moulding to his shape with every inch that he eases in, fluttering around his length and squeezing.

it’s just that you can feel him everywhere. every time you think that he’s finally bottomed out, he keeps on pushing until he settles into a gentle rocking of his hips. beside you, his knuckles turn a faint shade of white, and you can hear the low baritone of his breathy little groans inside your ear. it doesn’t even compare to what you were imagining earlier. 

the feeling of him on top of you, weighing you down as he pecks, kissing along the dip of your shoulder. the way that he’s being so ridiculously gentle as he fucks you exactly how you asked him to, his strokes slow yet still deep enough to leave you reeling. at first it has you gasping, mewling, as your nails carve neat lines down the pale skin of his back, but then your jaw goes all slack and you can only babble out soft prayers in your own language. 

“how do you feel, baby? you feeling good?”  he lifts his head to look at you, beaming at the teary, cock-drunk look in your eyes. 

you really are just so pretty like this, aren’t you? hair sprawled out across the pillows, nose all scrunched, and your shirt bunched up around your midriff high enough to expose the bulging of your tummy with each one of his slow thrusts. maybe you weren’t just a marvel, maybe you’re actually a lot more than that to him now — maybe you’re greatest thing that he’s ever fucking seen.

“so, so good, joost….fuck.”  the praise comes out as more of a cry than anything else, catching in your throat. 

and it feels a little different than before when you feel that knot inside of you start to twist again. it’s tender, quieter, still enough to have you quivering beneath him because you’re still just so sensitive from the last one. goosebumps prick up along the skin of your arms as your sight turns a little blurry around the edges; the only thing strong enough to keep you anchored to the room is the hand on your hip, kneading the soft flesh. 

he knows that you’re close, doesn’t he?

 he knows that he is, too.

“think you can give me one more?”

you can’t even nod before it happens, stealing your voice, turning you limp as your eyes roll far back inside your head. it’s delirium. your whole body convulses for a moment; your nails dig crescent shapes into the muscle of his biceps as your ears ring too loud for you to really hear his own whimpering of your name. 

he tips his head forward as he cums, resting his forehead against yours, taking in and memorising every soft little detail of your face. there’s a faint voice in the back of his head telling him that he might not ever see it again, at least not like this. it really scares him, doesn’t it?

and it’s only because he knows that he has to, that joost then finds the strength to pull out once you’ve had a minute or two to ground yourself. you both can’t help but hiss at the feeling of it, even such a brief touch now far too much for either of you to bear anymore. 

you’re scooped up into his arms before he rolls, tugging you up to lay flat across his chest as he settles to rest on his back. with your cheek pressed firmly against him, you can hear his heartbeat, a little elevated but steady, threatening to lull you to sleep as his palms caress up and down your spine. it’s all too warm, too safe; you lose the fight of trying to keep your eyes open for another moment longer. 

“you don’t have to stay, you know. it’s okay.”

the way that joost frowns at that is immediate, and he brings a hand up to gently tuck a few strands of fallen hair back behind your ear. “why wouldn’t i want to stay?”

you just shrug against him, nuzzling yourself further into his chest. “i don’t know, they normally don’t.” 

he’s quick to rebuttal. “well what if i wanted to?”

and it's almost lazy how you then drag your head up to face him, resting your chin on his sternum. for as sweet as his smile is, you can see that it doesn’t really reach his eyes fully — there’s something a little sad in the way that he gazes at you, hugging you to him a little tighter as he does.

“even in all the mess?” 

there’s a puddle of something, of one of you or maybe a mixture of the two seeping into the sheets beside him. you’re both still painfully sticky, still covered in a thick layer of sweat that the stuffy air around you is only exacerbating, and laying on top of the covers instead of underneath them. 

the thought of his clean, untouched bed back at his own hotel doesn’t even cross his mind. only a quick, cold shower with you does, if either of you can even find the willpower for that.