The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"

He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.

"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."

And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"

The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.

"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.

You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.

"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.

"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.

He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.

"You want me to fuck you."

It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.

His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"

The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.

"That's the idea, sweetheart."

So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.

But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.

You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.

His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.

He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.

It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.

Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.

"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"

A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."

Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."

But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.

You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."

The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"

He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"

His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"

"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"

The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.

"No."

Your heart plummeted. "What?"

"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"

His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."

"Wait?"

"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."

The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."

You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.

Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.

He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.

"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.

You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.

"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.

"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."

You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"

"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."

He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"

You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."

He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."

Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.

You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.

"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.

"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."

He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.

He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.

He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.

He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."

"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."

He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."

He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.

While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.

"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."

"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."

His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.

He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.

"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.

The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.

He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.

You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.

You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."

His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."

You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.

"Your turn," he grunted.

You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."

You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.

You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.

"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."

You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.

"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."

You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."

"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.

He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.

"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."

You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.

He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.

You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.

"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"

His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.

You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.

The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.

You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.

That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.

It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."

He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."

"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.

You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."

His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.

Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.

He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"

"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."

He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."

You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.

The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.

You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.

"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."

His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."

"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."

That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.

His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."

He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.

"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.

He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ .

★ 1994.

you had been sitting in front of the mirror for what feels like an eternity. you know that’s normal when nerves are creeping in, but right now, after fantasizing – or dreading – this date for a whole week, it feels like something is off.

it happened at the pub, noel and liam had just finished performing when tom approached.

he was sweet. he was in the same class as one of your friends and he kept his hands where you could see them. he didn’t let liam’s loudness startle him – maybe noel’s stare a little. but oh well.

at the end of the evening, just as you were saying goodbye far too early and he had just come back from a smoke outside, he asked you out. he did it casually, mentioned a nicer pub down his street that had incredible fish and chips.

you said yes, part because you wanted to and part because you never really knew how to say no – your cheeks get warmer just at the thought of coming up with an excuse that sounds silly.

but right now, you were fidgety. your lipstick didn’t quite look right, the mascara looked clumpy and you think you might’ve overdone it with the blush. christ almighty.

and of course, noel wasn’t helping.

he stayed sat down – nearly laying – on your bed from the moment he walked inside your room, back rested on your headboard and some pillows, arm absentmindedly resting over some plushie toy he had mocked you for several times already, legs sprawled over the mattress.

he quickly realized that watching you fret over your reflection was quite amusing.

it’s a contrast no one really knew how to explain why the fuck it would work, you two. but it did.

noel had this annoying calmness over him. smugness, even – the kind that made him walk through the door of your house at the same time your mum was leaving for her night shift and not even tremble in his trainers with fear that she might realize he was off his tits.

eh. i chewed a piece of gum. put some cologne on to disguise the smell. the red eyes are just tiredness, miss. band’s beggining to take off right now, do you know what i mean? writing too many songs. oh yes, of course i can give your nephew a few guitar lessons, and don’t even fret, i wouldn’t dream of charging him.

at her playful words “take care of my girl” he gave her a charming smile alongside a polite nod that said when don’t i?

have a lovely shift!

while you were a pile of nerves, constantly. always worried of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, always overthinking and shaking like a scared little puppy just for correcting a wrong order at a new restaurant.

now wouldn’t be any different.

you were nervous for this date – terrified, really. your hands kept fumbling and knocking over little bits of makeup that clattered softly against the floor. you didn’t notice how many times you bent down to grab them, muttering “fuck sake” to yourself, cheeks already warm with frustration.

noel had to fight back a smirk every time you did, because what you hadn’t noticed either is that every time you’d bend down, the clumsy action would give noel first class seats to look at your new pair of lacy blue underwear.

yeah, yeah. he’s a prick. but you see, it seems like the weed he has smoked went straight to his cock rather than to his head. so much that, for the first time ever, he’s deeply considering actually making a move on his cute little girl mate.

you’ve done it five times by now. from the second one foward he’s been hard underneath his jeans. having to adjust himself every single time, even tilting his head to follow the way your skirt flaps up… and down.

he has noticed you’ve got a nice arse before. but christ… this is new.

he could tell you bought the pair just for tonight. he knows you won’t do anything, but still. it was there – that silent desire of finally understanding what all the fuss was about.

the thought made his cock stir inside his trousers once more. god, you’re so cute. so sweet. but at the same time, it made his jaw tighten. the thought of some boring prick getting to see that blue lace hugging that perfect ass? fucking unacceptable.

you’re not gonna do it with the lad, that’s for fucking sure. so… what kind of friend will noel be if he lets your precious money on these pretty pair of underwear go to waste? it would be a tragedy to let those knickers stay dry all night.

“what’s the lad’s name again?” he asked, tone unbothered.

you sighed shakily, shaking your head at your reflection and muttering out quietly, whispering exasperated. “doesn’t… fucking look right…” you talked about the eyeliner, completely ignoring noel’s question.

“oi. ‘m talking to ya,” noel called out. not rude, a little amused to be honest. he raised his brows and smirked faintly as you turned your head towards him, finally paying attention. “the lad’s name, love. what is it?”

you inhaled, already turning back to your reflection. “tom.”

noel scoffed. and before he could say anything, you cut in. “i know. but he’s… nice. he’s sweet, noel.” you said softly, tone dripping with sweetness despite the nerves.

he snorts at that, laying further back on the pillows with his neck slightly propped up so he could keep looking at you. he puts his arms behind his head as he winds you up. “he the king of england or summat?” he mutters. “know it’s your first date and all but, fuckin’ hell.”

you frown a little at his tone, glancing at him through the mirror. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“means you’re actin’ like it’s life or death. it’s a pint and some chips, not a bloody wedding.”

you huff softly, turning back to your reflection and immediately looking down at the table, makeup products scattered everywhere.

“it’s…” you cut yourself off with a soft sigh, putting the cap back onto your lipstick as an attempt to make this less embarrassing, “it’s not just that, noel...”

“what is it, then?” he presses in a little further, not mean. not curious, either, because he knows. of course he does. he just wants to hear you say it, he just wants you to give him his perfect cue.

you hesitate. and then, “i’ve never… never kissed anyone before.” quieter now, like you’re admitting something embarrassing.

he stays quiet for a second. like something’s just clicked into place, something he had already figured out was now being handed to him properly. his tongue presses into his cheek, tilting his head as his eyes drag over you in the mirror again.“that so, love?” he says, lowly.

you nod a little, already embarrassed, already looking down again, watching your fingers fiddle with the edge of your skirt. “yeah. it’s— i mean. it’s not a big deal.”

he doesn’t say anything else, he just keeps watching the back of your head. until your turn, eyebrows slightly scrunched together, hands on your lap picking at your rings.

“right?” you ask, quieter, needing him to confirm it, to tell you it’s not as nervewrecking as it suddenly feels.

his tongue darts out to lick his lips, a small effort to hold himself from smirking at the sight of you. your pretty face, your lips tinted with lipstick, the way you’re sitting there all unsure and soft and a little too trusting for your own good.

then he exhales lightly through his nose and tilts his head, patting the mattress – your mattress – beside him. “c’mere.”

your heart skips a beat. “what?”

“c’mere, love” he repeats, nodding once toward himself, like it’s obvious.

you hesitate, but not for long. because it’s noel, isn’t it? your noel. so you step forward, slow, until you’re standing right beside the bed, knees nearly brushing the mattress.

he reaches out, taking your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his thumb warm and grounding as it glides over your knuckles. “well… that can’t happen, can it?” he says softly, a touch of thoughtfulness.

you furrow your brows softly, looking at his face while he gently holds your hand. “what can’t?”

“you goin’ out there like that, love” he says, like it’s a fact, giving your hand a small squeeze. “never been kissed, don’t know what you’re doin’… you’ll just embarrass yourself.”

you swallowed gruffly, because he’s just putting into words what you’ve been worried all along. “i— no-“

“you will,” he cuts in, even softer this time. “gonna freeze up. overthink it. lad’ll think you don’t fancy him.”

you falter. then you sigh, slowly plopping down and sitting right on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking softly right beside him as he watches you.

his hand that’s holding yours drops until it’s resting on your lap, “s’okay. birdie…” he coos, letting go of your hand and caressing your thigh – reassuring, but he takes the opportunity to slip a finger under the hem of your skirt, like it’s accidental.

you’re so in your head you don’t even think too much about it. and it feels nice too…

“just… thought… about just— just going with it, you know?… see what happens…” you said quietly. you shifted your head so you could look at his eyes, but you didn’t quite meet his blue gaze back – too entranced by the sight of his hand sliding over your thighs, caressing it.

he gave your leg a soft squeeze, shaking his head. “nah, that’s rubbish, love…” he said lowly, still gliding his hand over your thigh, finally looking back at you like he was deeply concerned. “can’t have you goin’ out there clueless. not with a lad who doesn’t know you…” – he then did a little tsc with his tongue like he couldn’t stand at the thought – “that’s just not right. what if he tells his friends?”

your hands were shaking now, and he could tell if he pressed in a little further he could make you fucking cry. he won’t. not like this, at least. so he took your shaking hands into his, holding them gently.

“tell you what, though.” he says softly, like he’s offering you something harmless. “i’ll help you, yeah?”

you blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing softly as you watched him shift. he sat straighter up, his broad back properly resting against your headboard now, legs slightly spread in the way men’s always are.

before you could even process what he was implying, even before heat could flush up to your cheeks at the mere thought, noel’s hands slowly moved.

his grip on your hands tightens just slightly, guiding you forward until your knees pressed into the mattress and then – just as easily – he’s pulling you onto his lap, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“there we go…” he murmurs, voice low, pleased with himself in a way that makes your lower belly tighten.

your body stiffens over his lap. because you’re wearing a skirt, and you know your body, don’t you? you know that this, just this, will already get you wound up. right over his lap, with too little pieces of fabric to disguise.

“noel…” you start quietly, even try to shift away so it doesn’t get that embarrassing.

but his hands find your hips, over the fabric of your skirt. they’re big, so the smallest amount of steadiness from his palms keeps you right where you are, in the gentlest, warmest way. “shhh… hey, s’alright. just easier to snog like this, innit?” he says easily, thumbs brushing small patterns on your hips.

you swallow, hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself. your heart is racing now. too fast, too loud. you nod anyway, because he’s right. he always sounds right.

he nods softly. a small smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as his hand moves to your back, rubbing it in gentle wide circles, while the other one approaches your face. “relax, yeah?” he says, brushing your hair back from your face before settling back on your thigh.

you nod again, nervously looking down at yourself straddling his lap. your skirt has ridden up a little with the movement, and his hands are resting warm against your thighs, now knuckles underneath the hem as he brushes slow, absentminded patterns that don’t feel absentminded at all.

he smirks as he follows your gaze. his hands slide a little higher, just under the hem of your skirt, fingertips grazing skin that feels too sensitive all of a sudden. “cute skirt, y’know,” he adds casually, like that’s all.

“we’ll just… practice a bit. then you’ll know what you’re doin’, yeah?” he shifts under you as he says it, casually. the movement makes you inhale shakily, anyway. your hands tighten on his shoulders without thinking.

maybe it’s the thickness of his jeans.

you don’t really know what an erection feels like. not properly, so definitely not when it’s pressed right up against you with barely anything in between. but there’s something there. something firm, warm, twitching slightly every time either of you move, and it makes you swallow harshly.

your hips shifting just slightly, involuntarily, like you’re trying to adjust, or maybe trying to understand the feeling better.

noel nearly smirks at the sight, because he knows what’s going on down there. and of course you’d react like that, wouldn’t you?

he doesn’t adress it, though. not yet.

his hands slowly slide from the front of your thighs to the side of your hips, his fingertips brushing the soft skin of the ass he’s unapologetically been staring at for the last hour or so.

he leans in, slowly.

then, he whispers, “no rush, yeah? just… follow my lead.”

his breath brushes your lips as he says it. the delicious mixture of mint gum and weed and cigarettes makes you dumbly nod, involuntarily leaning in as an attempt to meet him halfway.

the kiss starts slow.

at first, it’s a press of lips followed by a soft breath leaving your nostrils. you’re not quite sure what to do next, thankfully, noel’s hand goes to the side of your face, gently resting over your cheek and his thumb lightly pressing down on your chin so you can open your mouth for his tongue.

when it does, you can’t really stifle a tiny moan in. because his tongue feels so soft against yours, slow and perfectly warm. it only makes him hum, pleased, like he’s just proven a point. his hand slides down to the side of your neck while the other stays over the soft skin of your hip, feeling your muscles tense underneath his touch – he can even feel the way you’re throbbing right over his clothed, warm erection.

the kiss turns a little wetter, messier despite still slow. quiet little sounds – of your tongues moving, of the tiny and wet sounds of your lips smooching, of your breath catching – fill the room in between your shaky inhales.

the soft sounds could be passed as something sweet and tender if your knickers hadn’t been ruined already. it would be romantic if noel didn’t really know what he was doing to you. if it wasn’t on purpose, but all of it is. every soft squeeze he gives your thighs are filled with intention, every accidental shift of his hips is purposely to add the tiny pressure that makes you clench around nothing.

your hands don’t really know where to go at first, hovering awkwardly before finally settling on him, gripping at his shoulders, then sliding up. the soft absence of his hair slips right between your digits.

he moans at the feeling of your hands sliding over his neck, his shoulders, his jaw…

you feel it like a fucking lightning. because your body reacts to everything, to every slow drag of his tongue and every heavy breath he lets out. it doesn’t take much before your hips twitch over his lap, a small, involuntary movement that gives you away completely.

noel pulls back just enough to look at you, and his lips – smudged with your lipstick and slick with spit – are already curling up into a smirk.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low, amused. he already knows the answer.

your chest moves faster than usual, your eyes search for his but nothing comes out of your stammering mouth.

his hands slide down your thighs again, slow and deliberate. he caresses the skin under your skirt like it’s nothing. “d’you wanna stop?…” he adds, softer.

but he doesn’t wait for an answer. instead, he slowly leans in until his lips are on your neck.

your breath catches instantly, your eyes flutter shut and your hands wrap around his biceps like you’re holding on for dear life. because you don’t want to stop – you just don’t know what’s happening to you. you’ve never felt this aroused before.

he continues leaving wet and slow kisses along your skin. his nose brushes under your ear and he takes in the sweet scent of the perfume you’d put on for another lad – he smirks to himself, because right now, your body keeps reacting to him.

you try to say something, but it comes out broken.

he pulls away then, looking at your glassy eyes. his hand slowly shifts to your face, brushing your hair away as he watches you, like he’s not doing all of this on purpose. “d’you wanna stop, darling?” he asks again, like he doesn’t know the answer already.

you shake your head eagerly, “n-no… no…”

he raises his brows, gentle and mocking all at once. still smirking. “no?” he asks softly, shaking his head just like you, but slower.

“no… it’s… it’s okay. don’t… don’t have to stop, noel” you try to reassure him calmly, like your head isn’t spinning.

“yeah?…” he asks sweetly, leaning in and pressing another kiss to your lips. he feels you trying to slide your tongue inside his mouth again, but he doesn’t do it back – he just smirks against your lips and carries on. “why d’you get all nervous, then?”

your mouth opens, closes again. your breath is uneven as you try to come up with something, because how do you even say it? that if you even move an inch he’ll be able to hear how wet you are?

but noel shakes his head slowly, “s’okay, love…” he murmurs, voice low as his hands slide over your ass – caressing and grabbing it softly, slowly. “can feel it, y’know.”

you swallow, eyebrows pinching together for a moment as he drags you over his crotch. he just hums in response, leaning in again and saying it against your lips: “fucking soaked through, baby. no need to lie, is there?”

you breathe out his name, needy.

he gives you a soft kiss, gentle, almost like he feels bad. “poor birdie. don’t even know what to do with it, do you?” he says quietly, fondly.

your face burns instantly, breath catching as you shake your head just a little, more instinct than anything else. far too gone to realize that you’re full on admitting it.

he just coos you in response, nodding softly, “yeah… i know, i know…”

his hands grab your ass a tad firmer, pulling you closer and making you shift on his lap. he guides you forward, making you slowly rub yourself over his hard and warm cock strained underneath his jeans. he shows you that he’s equally as turned, like it’s just part of the lesson. “feel that?” he says, quieter now, almost amused.

you let out another tiny moan, a shaky one as your head dips forward, forehead resting on the side of his neck as you nod, shyly.

he exhales softly through his nose. “see? feelin’ it too. means you’re doin’ it right, yeah?” he adds. his hands slide again, almost lazy and a tad bolder as they caress your inner thighs now. “hard as fuck. jus’ for you.”

you breathe out his name, eyebrows furrowing just from how bad you want it. his fingers come up again, brushing lightly over your jaw, turning your face just enough so he can look at you properly.

your lipstick is ruined. your lips a little swollen from kissing. your eyes are glassy in that pretty pleading way.

he shakes his head, caressing your cheek. “look at you…” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip, smearing it just a little more. “can’t send you out like this, can i?”

you blink at him, dazed. “y-yeah?” you whisper.

“yeah, darling. can't go out like this… date won’t be any good if you're this worked up. you'll be distracted. wouldn't be fair to the lad, yeah? need to clear your head first.”

you stammer a little, but he’s quick to cut off any logic thing you might say – he’s your friend, you’ve got a date, you’ve never done this before… anything that might keep you from crossing the line you desperately want to.

“nah, love… s’alright… just gotta help you first, don’t i? lemme make you feel good, then you go to your lad. how's that sound, hm?"

it sounds logical in the hazy fog of his scent and the ache between your legs – especially when his mouth is back at your neck again, slow and warm and distracting.

you nod dumbly, trusting his shitty excuse because you simply don't know any better, and noel always seemed to know everything.

“y-yeah…” you breathe out.

“yeah? sounds good?” he asks softly, already sliding his palm upwards your inner thigh.

you nod eagerly, eyes glassy as you watch his face and the way he’s completely mesmerized by your needy expression. he’s mirroring your action and nodding back, nearly mocking and fully smug.

his finger press down your needy clit over the drenched fabric of your knickers, your hands immediately grasp his shoulders.

his brows furrow for a moment. “fuck… look how wet you are…” he says it lowly, nearly breathing it out, like he’s impressed and feels bad at the same time.

you moan as he starts circling your clit, eyes tightening shut as he drags out the pad of his fingertips over the slick fabric.

“n-noel… i…”

“what, hm?”

“please…”

he smirks at your plea, tipping his chin and saying lowly, “this ain’t enough f’you, hm?”

you let out a shaky huff, shyly shaking your head no. noel hums in response, leaning in to give you another slow kiss. his tongue drags warm and lazy against yours, and you melt into it immediately, hips pathetically searching for more of his touch.

then, his fingers slide underneath the lace. you break the kiss with a gasp, one that immediately becomes a moan. he presses a soft peck over your lips, the corner of your mouth – the fabric clinging to his knuckles doesn’t stopping him from circling your clit with a ridiculous precision you’ve only fantasized about.

“better?” he asks quietly, lips brushing yours again like he’s being gentle.

you nod desperately, your bottom lip feels a little sore from how much you’ve been biting it. he breathes out a tiny laugh at it, shaking his head once to himself as his gaze trails down your body.

his eyes land on your thighs spread for him right over his lap. your skirt is pushed up, allowing him to watch his fingers rubbing circles around your clit, the drenched fabric pulled to the side exposing you to him.

the wet and soft sounds of his fingers working your cunt make him lick his lips, tilting his head so he can even get a better look – furrowing his thick eyebrows nearly in pleasure just at the sight.

“such a pretty cunt you’ve got here, love” he praises, and his voice makes your head spin – tipping to the side without you even meaning to, eyes closing and lips agape as you softly pant.

he hums at your needy sounds, but his eyes stay fixed where you’re soaking his fingers. “mhm… look how wet it is…” he says nearly absentmindedly as he watches it attentively, like he wants to commit the sight to memory. “so pretty… looks so sweet…” he murmurs, lower now.

his free hand moves closer, his index and middle fingers spread your lips apart, his other hand still slowly stimulating your clit in gentle and precise circles.

“no one else has ever touched you here, yeah? just me, innit?” he asks barely above a whisper.

you shake your head, fast and eager and needy. he hums in response, slowly nodding like he’s almost proud of the fact. not pulling his eyes away from your cunt even for a second.

his two fingers rubbing your clit widen the motion, slowly, until they’re teasing right over your entrance – picking up the wetness you’re letting out and feeling you clench around nothing. but he didn't go in.

he just keeps teasing your needy opening. dragging down… and taking a little longer to go back to your clit again. then, he repeats like it’s nothing, like you’re not a whimpering mess already, nearly begging.

because he wants to hear it.

“please,” you breathe it out, whispered like you’re embarrassed by it. your head involuntarily shifts closer to him, lips accidentally bumping against his jaw. “noel… please. please, noel…”

he smirks, only then looking up. “what?… d’you want me to put it in?” he asks, breath warm against your lips. slowing down even more.

your breath stutters, and you nod eagerly. your hands clutch at the sides and back of his neck, forehead nearly pressing against his. “p-please,” you beg, and it comes out small, needy. breaking around the edges. “i’ve… i’ve done it myself. it’s okay, you can—”

he smirks even wider. his lips press against yours a little firmer now, his finger pushed in just enough to tease you, then away.

“yeah?” he says roughly, still quiet. his head tilts just slightly, eyes dragging over your face and taking in how you’re trying to not break the kiss. “you have, have you?”

you nod, fast, desperate. already dragging him for another kiss, panting a little harder.

then, he moves his hand away. the stammering protests die in your throat as he speaks, before you can chase his touch again.

“show me then.”

your heart drops. heat crawls up to your face so fast you feel like it could explode your head. “w-what?”

he keeps his eyes on your face when he takes your hand – his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist before you can even think about pulling away. he looks down to watch his hand guiding yours.

“show me how you do it when you’re alone, love” he murmurs, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

you hesitate, eyebrows furrowing softly. he does a soft ‘tsc’ with his tongue, his thumb caressing your wrist while his other hand rests on your thigh, spreading them further on his lap. he tips his chin towards you softly, the way when he’s silently saying cmon.

“said you’ve done it before, sweetheart. let me see how you like it, hm?”

he can feel your hand shaking, he can see how you swallow roughly at his request and at how he’s not letting you back out in the gentle, softest tone.

you don’t pull away, you simply obey.

your hand trembles so violently it’s a miracle you can even find your own entrance, but the moment your own skin touches the slick, swollen folds of your cunt, a tiny sob catches in your throat.

he hums quietly as he keeps the gentle grip on your wrist, pushing your hand softly until your digit slips, so easily it feels like you’re doing it all on your own. you’re so wet it’s effortless, your hole greedily swallowing your finger as you start a slow pace.

it’s different when he’s watching – everything feels hotter, shameful and perfect all at once. and his voice, his hands, his smell… him. everything about it makes your head spin.

“that’s it…” he murmurs, almost under his breath, pleased. “good girl…”

his words makes your movements falter for half a second before picking back up again. your finger slides in and out so slowly it makes a gushy noise every time – one that’s like music to noel’s ears. you curl them softly every time you push in, but it’s not enough to reach your most sensitive spot.

his thumbs dig in softly in the flesh of your thighs every time a tiny moan slips out of you. noel’s eyes are blown wide, tracking every movement of your hand, lips parting as he watches.

he nods absentmindedly, not pulling his gaze away. he shifts one of his hand, pressing his palm over the aching bulge that’s formed inside his trousers, while his other thumb keeps brushing soft patterns on your inner thigh.

“how many, hm?” he asks quietly, voice dipping lower as his head tilts slightly, eyes dragging back up to your face. “how many fingers have you put in, hm?”

you whimper softly, clenching around your own finger and closing your eyes as you furrow your brows, shyly. “noel…”

his hand resting on your inner thigh moves until the pad of his thumb presses over your clit. you gasp at the feeling, head tipping back and the words escaping before you can even realize.

“t-fuck. one… one, noel”

“yeah, love? just like that, then, yeah?” he asks softly, still drawing slow circles on your clit as your own finger slides in and out. you nod, desperately – his other hand immediately shifting to the button of his jeans at the sight.

his thumb keeps moving as he slowly drags his own zipper down. like he’s in no rush at all.

“and what d’ya think about, hm?” he murmurs, voice low.

your breath hitches, your head shakes faintly, more instinct than anything else.

“course you do, love,” he cuts in softly before you can even try to deny it. his thumb presses just a little more firmly, enough to make another moan catch in your throat again. “everyone does…”

your head drops foward, face now buried on the side of his neck as your hips stutter. he smirks to himself, turning his head enough to whisper right in your ear.

“what d’you think about when you’re fingering your pretty cunt, hm?"

your lips part, and his name slips past them in a soft, broken moan that makes his mouth twitch. it makes him nod, smug and satisfied. like he’s praising you for giving him the correct answer.

“mhm… that’s it” he praises softly. his hand slides up the back of your neck, his fingers are firm and tender all at once as they thread into your hair, guiding your mouth back to his.

and yet again, you’re too deep in the feeling of his tongue on yours to even form a coherent thought. to even keep moving your finger inside yourself. all you notice is him shifting underneath you, his hips lifting off the mattress just so he can drag his trousers down, enough to free his leaking and hard cock.

his hand in your hair tightens just enough to pull you back, breaking the kiss before you can chase it again.

you whimper softly at the loss, mouth slightly agape, breath uneven. he gives you a soothing peck on your parted lips, then the corner of your mouth.

then, his grip shifts, guiding your chin downward so you can see his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly.

it looks intimidatingly real in the dim light – his tip is flushed and leaking, the soft hairs on his crotch make you start moving your finger inside yourself cunt again, and the way he’s touching himself right now makes you let out a shaky moan.

he’s fucking big, too. not that you have someone else’s to actually compare to, but you’re aware that that’s the “a lot” your girlfriends talk about once they’re sharing their sex experiences in between class breaks.

it makes your head spin in nerves and excitement all at once.

the soft, shaky breath you let out seems to make him stroke himself with a little more intent. he lets out a low moan at the friction just to make you loose it a bit more. his fingers tighten in your hair without even meaning to, and he doesn’t move your head even an inch, because he wants you to watch – just like he’s been doing to you for the past few minutes. your fingers curling in and out like you don’t know what to do with them anymore.

he raises his brows in mock innocence at your reaction, like he didn’t even see it coming. like he has no idea what it’s about.

fuck me, if the birds he’s slept with had that reaction and they aren’t even virgins, he can only imagine what you’re gonna be like once his cock is fucking you relentlessly.

he’s no monster – he’s a prick, sure. but he’ll start slow, right? he’ll make sure you’re soaked like this once he slides in. he’ll only pick up the pace once you beg for it, and he knows you will. he knows you’ll look so pretty doing it, too. even prettier than now, and that’s fucking hard to top. he strokes himself faster at the mere thought.

“what?… look how hard i am, love,” he says, coyly and quieter, enough to make your stomach flip. “hurts, y’know.”

and before you can think too much about it, he’s guiding your hand away from your dripping cunt. you whimper softly at the absence of stimulation, but then, he’s making you wrap your hand around his own length. "do it f’me, darlin’. help me out, will you?"

his hand is over yours, both wrapped around his cock as he strokes up and down slowly. like he’s showing you something rather than asking.

you watch it like you’re hypnotized. how pretty his slit looks with pre cum smeared all over it, how the heat and the velvet-soft skin feel good underneath your touch. you start to stroke him on your own, his hand slowly letting go of yours as you mimick the way he just taught you.

noel lets out a moan deep from the back of his throat, moving his hands until they’re grabbing your inner thighs a little firmer now at the pleasure. “there we go…” he says softly, watching your hand work him. “fuck, darling…”

you pick up your gaze until it’s on his face again, being met with the sight of his lips slightly parted, blue eyes glued to your hand stroking him up and down. you furrow your brows softly at it, swallowing down a tiny whimper as you involuntarily shift on his lap, searching for any friction you can get.

and just like he could read your mind, one of his hands leave your thigh. he brings two fingers to his own mouth, wrapping his lips around the thick digits, swirling his tongue around them enough to make them slick. then, he guides them to your neglected pretty entrance.

he pushes two fingers in without any resistance. you let out a shaky moan, head dipping forward and grip tightening around him as you try to steady yourself. you moan his name, broken and needy – not from pain, because you’re so wet right now you feel like you could take all of him without batting an eye.

he hums at that. smug and pleased, but his hips twitching upwards tell on him, that he’s fully loosing it just like you. “that’s it, love… fuck. do it f’me and i’ll do it for you, yeah?” he adds. his tone is coaxing, but the roughness in his voice makes you clench around his fingers without even meaning to.

your breath stutters, movements turning uneven for a second before trying to find some kind of rhythm again. you’re clumsy and still a little shy, but the way you’re looking at him, feels like you’re fucking begging for it.

he curls his fingers inside you, the angle is a little awkward in between limbs moving sloppily and needy – but he gets it right. it makes you moan the loudest than you have so far, eyes falling shut and eyebrows furrowing as his thumb finds your clit at the same time his thick fingers slowly fuck you.

your hand starts working him faster, needier. your free one digs into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, sliding to the back of his neck like you’re fully loosing it.

he smirks at your reaction, nodding to himself and grunting lowly every time his hips meet your hand. every time, the filthy wet sounds of his fingers fucking you get even louder.

you start babbling his name, and he taunts you with a “yeah?” that neither of you know what it’s referring to. you nod dumbly anyway, breath hitching as you try to follow his pace, try to match him, even though everything feels too much already.

your body shakes over his from pleasure and from movement of him fucking your hand. it doesn’t stop him from leaning closer, his free hand tugging the cut from your top down until your breasts are exposed to him – he closes the distance sloppily, greedy as his mouth latches onto your nipple, widely swirling his tongue around it and sucking it. your nails dig into the back of his neck, searching for something to hold onto as the feeling keeps tightening.

you choke out a moan that’s nearly a cry, head tipping back and lips parting as you pant. “fuck… n-noel… i… oh my god, noel…” you blabber, hips now grinding against his palm.

he keeps thrusting into your hand, only pulling his mouth off from your tits to moan against your mouth, tongue sloppy and uncoordinated as he swallows your moans. “gonna cum f’me?” he murmurs, teeth grazing your flushed lips.

you nod, desperately.

“c’mon then. such a tight fucking cunt, baby. want it all over my hand, yeah? cum all over my fingers, cmon.” he grunts.

with a last curl of his fingers, a last press of his thumb right over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you came undone. 

fucking hard, you did. your moans now sounding nearly pornographic as you squeeze noel’s fingers so hard he even doubts for a second that he’ll be able to play guitar for the next couple of days. 

eh, he wouldn’t really mind. 

you threw your head back, mouth falling agape and needy broken moans escaping. your breath was coming out shaky, hitching. little high pitched whimpers filling the room, mixing the wet and gushy sounds of noel’s fingers fucking your cunt relentlessly. 

he watched, chin propped up so he could look up and take every bit of your reaction. your free hand slid up the back of his neck desperately, in need to grab onto something or you’d might die from how intense it all felt. 

he smirked at the realization – nothing there anymore, is it? he buzzed it right off. 

he remembers last week, when he’d just arrived at the pub with the new haircut. your reaction was adorable, stuttering as you realized how fucking fit your mate, your best friend, looked. even while tom chatted you up, he could catch your nervous gaze snap back to him.

pfft, what a fucking joke, this tom lad. if he thought that was bad, imagine now, eh?

your nails digged in his scalp, his lips curled into a smug smirk parting enough so a low moan could escape. 

your hand went limp around him, unable to keep up. but he doesn't mind. he covers your hand with his own, his hard cock messily sliding upwards into your shaky grip as he watched your orgasm wash over. he thrusts one, two, three more times into your palm until he spills over, too.

hot spurts of his cum land right over the fabric of your cute skirt, over the soft skin of your thigh and knuckles. 

his chest heaves, forehead dropping to rest against your neck. only then his fingers finally stop. he feels you pulsing around them for a few more seconds. his free hand rests over your ass, sliding up your back as your body trembles over his.

after a few seconds of your heavy breaths being the only thing filling up the room, noel slowly withdraws his fingers out of you. the wet sound echoes in the silence, a tiny over sensitive whimper from you make him breathe out a tiny laugh despite himself.

“fuck me…” he breathes out. then, he pulls away to look down at the mess. his brows raise in amusement, his smirk grows even wider. “ruined that.”

you don’t adress it. fuck me indeed, the house could burn down now for all you care.

“noel…” you say again, softer this time. needy and shy from how much you want it. you’re still breathing hard, still shaky, still clinging to him like you don’t quite know how to ask for it.

his eyes flick back to yours, and he looks so pleased. so smug.

he only raises his brows, like he’s saying go on.

your hands slide up the back of his head, nearly apologetic for the mess you’re making. but you just shake your head as you lean closer, eyes glassy and pleading as you give him a soft kiss on the mouth.

“don’t…” your voice falters as you say it quietly against his lips. “please, noel… i don’t wanna stop…”

you feel him smiling against your mouth, his hands shifting until they’re back on your ass again. he slowly squeezes the soft flesh, barely kissing you back and breathing out into the slow glide of your tongues. “yeah?… don’t wanna stop, hm?”

you shake your head, quick and needy, your fingers still curled at the nape of his neck, keeping him close.

he hums softly, still tracing patterns on your hips and ass. he nods a little, then looks down. “i mean... that’s fucking done for, that.” he murmurs. not sounding sorry in the slightest, still smirking. “shame. y’looked dead pretty in it.“

you don’t even argue, you just lean in again, pressing another soft, desperate kiss to his mouth, like that’s your answer. like you don’t care about anything else anymore.

his hands tighten slightly on your ass at that, grounding and unapologetic all at once. “easy…” he coos, quieter now, nose brushing yours. “gotta sort that date out first, yeah?”

you whine, eyebrows furrowing and your lips nearly shifting into a needy pout. “noel…”

"gonna give it to ya, love... just be a good girl and call the poor lad, yeah?” he says, nearly buttery from how soft it is – it makes you want him to ruin you even more.

“now?…” you ask quietly, blinking up at him.

“yeah, now.” he says softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “can't have him standing there outside the pub like a fucking muppet, can we?“

you take in a shaky breath, nodding. he nods back, giving your ass tiny encouraging pats, watching you slowly shift off from his lap.

you lick your lips as you lay down on your stomach, propping yourself on your elbows so you can reach for the telephone and punch in the digits.

your heart is still hammering inside your chest when it starts ringing. you swallow gruffly, because you feel noel’s hand caressing your calf – a soft reminder that he’s very much still watching.

“hello?”

“t-tom?…”

“oh, hey. was about to leave the house, actually. you’re on your way t—“

“tom, i… i’m sorry. i think i’ve come down with something.” you said shakily, the air leaving your nostrils as you heard noel shifting behind you and the soft thud of his shirt falling on the floor.

your eyes were closed as tightly as your hand around the phone, listening to tom's unenthusiastic and nearly confused "oh." on the other line.

you couldn't see how noel was still smirking – his mouth still stained with your lipstick as he slowly settled more comfortably on the mattress, sitting on his heels right between your legs.

"well... what... are you feeling? are you alright?" tom asked.

you took in a deep breath so you could reply without your voice breaking. but just then, you felt noel's hands unhurriedly guide you until your knees were deep inside the mattress, ass arched up until you were perfectly exposed to him in a way that made your cheeks burn.

"i'm... i'm okay. i'm just... i have a really bad fever."

"right..." tom answered after a pause. "that's... well, that’s unfortunate."

"yeah." you swallowed.

behind you, the mattress dipped again. noel's hands settled on your asscheeks, lifting the fabric of your skirt until it was out of the way – he let out a low groan at the sight of the delicate fabric drenched, clinging onto your folds.

your forehead pressed deeper against the mattress as you felt him gently apply pressure over the fabric, drawing out torturous wide and slow circles over your clothed cunt, feeling your wetness cling onto the pad of his fingers. "i know, i... i'm really sorry." you added, but it came out broken.

tom didn't notice, apparently. "we can go out another night, if you want."

"yeah— that... yeah. that's alright." you managed, though your voice came out quieter than intended.

tom started talking about another place the two of you could go to, but behind you, noel leaned closer.

your whole body tensed with the sensation of his warm breath brushing such a sensitive spot, and the fever was about to become real once you felt the tip of his nose rubbing up and down your folds, hands gripping your flesh harder at your scent and his mouth watering from how wet you were.

your hand immediately flew to your mouth, covering a shaky and breathy gasp, coming out broken while tom talked about another restaurant down his street, a fancier one. you couldn't name what kind of food they served there even with a gun pressed on your temple, because the pressure of noel's nose was maddening.

and as if it couldn't get any worse, or better, his tongue slowly darted out – leaving a wet, slow and messy kiss right over your knickers. like the mess your own arousal made on the fabric wasn't enough.

a small tear formed on the corner of your eye, the hand covering your mouth shaking as you tried to keep quiet. noel hummed quietly against your clothed cunt, not even pulling his mouth away as he hooked his finger into the edge of the lace, pulling the fabric aside just enough to expose you.

you gasped softly, feeling his warm mouth pull away only an inch so his blue eyes could settle on your cunt. glistening and already puffy from his fingers, but still aching and throbbing for more.

"well... get some rest, yeah? hope you feel better." tom said on the phone.

your fuzzy brain could only think of an "okay" as a response, but noel's tongue leaning closer and slowly licking your clit cut you off immediately with another shaky gasp, making you instantly press your palm harder against your mouth.

you clenched around nothing, brows needily furrowing and back arching despite your cheeks heating up. at how dirty all this felt. at how his tongue was completely unhurried as it teased you, the intention clear: he wanted you to fall apart.

now, his lips slowly closed around your clit, softly sucking while his hands fondled your shaky thighs.

"sure you're okay?" tom asked, nearly concerned.

"yes! i... yeah. i'm sorry, tom. i'll... yeah, i'll get better. i'm so sorry." you stammered, and you could feel noel smiling against you, pulling away with a soft wet noise and guiding his fingers closer to your entrance. they didn't slide in, just applied enough pressure to spread your lips, watching how your needy hole dripped for him. just for him.

"it's alright. see you soon, then." tom said.

"o-okay... bye." you said quickly, immediately biting your bottom lip since you didn't trust yourself to keep quiet once your shaky hand placed the phone on its handle. fast, clumsy and desperate.

at the sound of the soft plastic thud indicating the call was finally over, your face buried inside the mattress. a small amount of drool smeared over the soft cotton sheets past your parted lips.

you let out a long and broken whine, muffled into the mattress as your hips helplessly twitched against his hands.

“there’s a good girl,” noel murmured, his voice dropping. he didn't give you a second to catch your breath as his two fingers, still slick with you, stretched you open with a deliberate push.

you bucked against his hand, a sharp gasp cutting through the quiet bedroom as your fingers tightly grasped the bedsheets. "noel..." you moaned his name needily.

he breathed out a small chuckle at your tone. “fucking hell, look at you,” he muttered under his breath, nearly amused.

even as he straightned his back, properly placed behind you now, his eyes never left your entrance swallowing his digits, you were so fucking wet taking him wouldn't even be that big of a problem. his thumb found your swollen clit as he thought, pressing down with a soft pressure that had your voice breaking into another needy whimper.

“so wet for me. didn't think it'd be this easy.”

“noel— please, noel,” you cried out, muffled by the soft bed. your back arched helplessly, trying to push yourself deeper onto his hand, silently begging for him to stop teasing.

he only hummed in response, a cruel and pleased sound, before his hand shifted.

his palm rubbed your back upwards before it settled on the nape of your neck, fingers tangling inside your hair. he tugged your head back until his mouth was right by your ear, gluing your back onto his chest, firm and tender all at once.

“drivin’ me fucking mad, love.” he breathed out, teeth grazing your earlobe and the delicate earring dangling, while his breath – hot and ragged – made goosebumps raise on the back of your neck.

your hand shook as it reached out for his hip, nails involuntarily digging in as you felt and heard the distinct rustle of fabric behind you from his free hand shoving his pants down to his thighs.

he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, despite his fingers tigthening inside your hair. “just needed to stretch y'out first, don’t i?” he whispered in your ear.

whatever words were sitting on your tongue died as soon as his hand wrapped around his cock, shifting closer until his shaft was directly pressed against you, sliding and teasing up and down your soaking wet folds without actually pushing in.

the friction made your breath hitch, softly crying out. “please… fuck, please.”

he let out a low and breathy laugh, teeth grazing your cheek softly as a smirk grew on his lips. "i know. i know, darling." he cooed, nearly condescending.

he only looked down to watch his cock sliding underneath the edge of your panties, his length perfectly fitting between your glistening lips – amused at the sight, slowly pushing his hips to make his cock slide between your folds without actually pushing in.

the feeling of his sensitive head brushing the damp lace made him hiss softly, but he didn't stop. “d’you want it?” he asked quietly, nibbling your jaw.

you couldn't even form a coherent word, brain entirely fried. you just moaned loudly, nodding your head frantically despite his firm grip inside your hair.

his hand sharply met the flesh of your ass, catching you off guard and pulling out a high-pitched moan from you.

“ask nice,” he commanded, firm. but his mouth placed another sweet kiss on your cheek right after. his hand went down to where your bodies almost met, pressing his palm firmer against his cock so the friction felt meaner. "c'mon, love. can do better than that, hm?"

you nodded desperaly, the words stumbling out of your mouth. “please, noel… please fuck me.” you sobbed, a stray tear spilling.

“think it’s too big f’ya, love. don’t y’think?” he taunted, gaze dropping past the curve of your spine, watching his length dissapearing underneath the fabric, sliding between your folds and coming out glistening with your arousal.

you shook your head desperately. “can— can handle it. want it. please, please…” you choked out in a broken whimper.

another wet kiss on your cheek, another harsh squeeze on your ass. "yeah?" he teased quietly,

you whimpered in protest as he pulled his warm cock away from you. but then, his hands guided you back into all fours, slowly and firmly.

your fingers immediately grabbed the sheets in anticipation. your forehead pressed into the mattress, tears softly wetting the cotton as your back arched even more.

you couldn't see it, but a smug smirk grew on his lips at the sight, not pulling his gaze away even when his hands were busy reaching for his wallet. a soft crinkling sound of a foil wrapper tearing open made you look behind you.

his palm settled on your ass again, sliding underneath the messy hem and caressing your skin, gentler now. his free hand rolled the rubber along his shaft, head tilting. “think y’can take my cock like this, hm?” noel muttered.

you didn't really know what the reply was, not rationally, at least. but you nodded anyway, swallowing gruffly despite wanting him so bad you thought it might kill you.

then, his hands slowly hooked into the waistband of your panties. he dragged them down your shaking thighs slowly, watching a thick, glistening trail of wetness visibly connecting your swollen folds to the fabric, the elastic strained around your knees.

the cold air of your room clashed against your skin, making your head feel even fuzzier.

your head tilted to the side, cheek resting over the mattress and eyes immediately landing on some stuffed animals already scattered over the bed, breath hitching. then, you looked at him behind you, eyebrows furrowed in such a needy way it made him physically remember himself to take it slow.

he let out a low, breathy laugh at your reaction. "i know," he whispered, reaching over to grab the small plushie sitting on the corner of the bed. he turned it around with a smirk so its beaded eyes faced the wall. "there. don't need 'em watching, do we."

hovering over you, with his hand wrapped around his cock and guiding himself towards your entrance, he stared down at the view and swore to himself he’d never seen a cunt so wet before, or a bird that’s begged so pretty like you.

he guided the heavy head of his cock right to your untouched entrance, pausing for a second to look at your face before he slowly pushing in. his mouth leaned down closer to your cheek the second you gasped softly at the stretch – a low grunt escaping from his lips at your cunt fluttering around him, so fucking wet it nearly sucked him in.

but he still pushed in slowly. agonizingly slow. a needy sound caught in your throat, vision going white as your body naturally clamped down around his length.

he grunted as his hips slowly slid in.

“look at you takin’ my cock, baby,” noel choked out, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he pushed through the nearly absent resistance, filling you completely. “fuck." – he kissed your pulse point – "fucking made for it.”

he let you adjust, his hands slid up from your hips, smoothing over the arch of your spine and soothing your back, "good?" he murmured against your skin, checking in.

you couldn't even form a syllable. you just choked out a breathless whimper, nodding against the mattress as your fingers digged deeper into the sheets. you were stretched so fucking full, the smeared mascara underneath your eyes smudging the duvet.

he let out a low, rough laugh, pleased with the pathetic sound you made. "fuck," he breathed out, amused. "doesn't hurt?"

you just whimpered in response, squirming underneath his weight pressed over your back. his free hand moved closer to your face, elbow propping himself up and palm meeting your cheek in two light taps. "hey, don't go all dumb on me, c'mon."

you inhaled, coming in a hitched breath. you shook your head softly, "just... it's okay."

"sure y'alright?" he asked again. his crotch was still firmly pressed against your asscheeks, fully inside you now.

"please." you whispered, broken and needy.

he breathed out a laugh, amused. his palm craddled your face and his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

"fucking hell, please what?" he asked quietly, leaning in and kissing your lips even though you couldn't fully kiss him back, not when you were still getting used to the fullness.

his lips bumped into his own thumb, taking in a deep breath and feeling his cock twitch at the feeling of your tongue fully loose and fully dumbed down against his. "please fuck you, that it?" he whispered against your mouth, his free hand gripping your hip harder.

you gave another needy nod, your ass arching instinctively, silently begging.

he smirked, despite feeling his cock throb inside you, equally as needy. "yeah?" noel muttered.

you whimpered, tongue brushing the pad of his finger, eyes looking up at him even glassier than before. needier. “please, fuck me…”

at your plea, he straightening his back with a rough moan, his palms properly positioned you back into all fours.

and then he pulled back. the friction of his condom-clad cock dragging against your tight walls made your vision blurry, a sharp sob tore from your chest as you felt the loss of his warmth close to you. but before you could even process the emptiness, he drove back in. slow and heavy, bottoming in again.

"god, fuck." he groaned, hips grinding heavily against your ass. his blue eyes watching the way you took him so pretty. "wish you could see it. fucking swallowing me."

the mental image made your skin burn, a hot flush spreading over your face and neck as he pulled out, slowly, only to push in again with the same depth.

"so fucking tight," he breathed out, hands grabbing your hips harder and pulling you back into him – the sounds of his hips slapping your flesh making everything feel dirtier, the wet sounds of his cock stretching you out making you whimper helplessly. "gonna milk me fucking dry before i even get a proper go, aren't ya?"

the pace was excruciatingly slow, he held onto a steady rhythm like he didn't trust himself to fully let go. the feeling had you weeping into the mattress, shaky and needy moans escaping your lips with every thrust.

you didn't know what it was like at a fast pace, all you knew is that you needed more. all you knew was that the pain already faded away.

you wanted him to do whatever he wanted, sure that it would be exactly what you needed.

“noel— please, noel, want... fuck, more.” you babbled.

he leaned down, “i know, love. i know,” he cooed. his teeth gently grazed your neck met your shoulder. the sting only added to the feeling of his hips finally picking up the pace. “look at you, taking all of it and already begging for more, christ.”

before you could ask for anything else, his hand reached out to yours, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist and guiding it between your legs. "rub yourself f'me, sweetheart. can you do that?" he instructed gently, nibbling your earlobe and smirking against it the second you gasped at the new friction.

as his back straightened again, hands tight on your hips, your fingers just followed his lead, sloppily rubbing circles around your clit.

the action immediately made you pulse harder around him, reaching an unbearable amount of pleasure. his deep strokes were hitting you perfectly, and the friction against your swollen bundle of nerves made your entire body shiver.

you began clench around his shaft in tight, helpless pulses. your needy moans getting so loud not even the mattress could muffle them properly anymore.

behind you, noel let out a low string of curses, large hands pulling your hips back into him. his eyes were stuck on his cock dissapearing inside you, slick with your wetness every time he pulled out just to drive himself back in faster.

“fuck, that’s it,” he grunted lowly. he began to fuck you heavily and fast, watching you squirm underneath him – fingers helplessly speeding up as you felt the tightness in your belly tighten.

the loud and wet sounds of his cock splitting you open and your sweet moans made him throw his head back in pleasure.

“already fucking coming, aren’t ya?" – he picked his gaze up again, not bearing the thought of not watching you underneath him – "squeeze it tight, love. fuck, cmon. that's it.”

you screamed his name into the mattress, your whole body shaking as your orgasm crashed like a tidal wave. noel himself wasn't far behind, with one last deep thrust, hot spurts of his cum spilled inside the condom, his head tipping back with a low moan as his hips stuttered.

neither of you moved for a couple of minutes – your body collapsed softly over the bed and his followed, chest over your back, keeping you pinned and ruined beneath him. all you could do was pant and feel your limbs softly shake.

noel was the first one to snap out of the sirupy athmosphere inside your bedroom. his forehead pressed softly over your shoulderblade as he cursed softly under his breath, eyes closing tightly shut with a small hiss as he slowly pulled out, steadying the condom around him with his fingers.

your immediate instinct was to hide, legs curling up softly while he sat down on the mattress, hands busy with tying the condom.

no one really talked about this part, where you have to figure out what the hell you're supposed to say with a head still fuzzy from your first ever earth-shaterring orgasm.

luckily, his eyes landed on you.

and then, he broke into a tiny and breathy laugh, settling himself beside you, hand reaching out towards your face and pushing the messy hair out of the way. "what? cat got your tongue or summat?"

that made you relax again, eyes closing and lips softly curling up. "stop that."

he laughed quietly, letting his hand linger on the side of your neck.

"i probably look crazy now." you said quietly, referring to the mess around your eye lids.

he broke into another quiet laugh again, shaking his head. "look pretty, yeah? don't fret." reaching out, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, picking up the smudged tint of your lipstick on the pad of his finger. your eyes closed, still smiling softly despite it all.

"you okay?" he asked quietly, head finally clear enough to snap back into the gentle noel you were familiar with. you nodded in response, he hummed softly at it. pleased and tired. "was it good for you?"

your eyes opened at it, eyebrows furrowing in that suspicious way that immediately made a weary expression settle on his face. "what?" he asked quietly.

you scoffed lightly, "you just wanna hear me say it."

he laughed, finally catching on. then, he shrugged, playful now. "maybe." he said, you hummed, wore out – he noticed, another huff of a laugh immediately escaped him. "cmon, let's get you cleaned up."

Every night in August looked the damn same: your dad’s friends crowded in the garage, smoking, drinking, shouting nonsense at the sports game. It was a sight you didn’t like, you hadn’t since you were a young thing–the overbearing noise, the smell, the way they always shooed you out anyway. It wasn’t your territory, and you respected it. Barely.

It’s Friday night, and you stand in the kitchen, yawning from being woken up. It was the stupid yelling again, a bunch of deep voices shouting over a commentator. Your mom was elsewhere, wine-drunk on the patio with her own friends, and you were stranded here on college vacation. 

You groan, stomping towards the garage door, swiftly opening it, seeing the five men lazily lounging around at twelve o’clock in the morning. You scowl at their collective glances, and you can tell that your dad is scowling at them, too.

“What can I do for ya’, honey?” your dad slurs out, leaning back into the lawn chair, his head turned over his shoulder. He’s drunk, of course he is.

“I’d… I’d appreciate it if you kept it down; I’m trying to sleep,” you explain with a little nod, leaning against the doorway, and he sighs, rolling his eyes. It’s a male-connection type of thing, and the other four smirk around the rim of their beer bottles.

“Sure… sure thing, baby girl, we’re sorry,” he mumbles out, chuckling to himself as he turns back to the television mounted on the garage wall, and you groan.

It’s not promising, not at all. 

Just as you shut the garage door, it returns; the cheering, the yelling, the laughs and high-fives, and you freeze, tipping your head back in frustration. It’s no use; why even bother going into your bedroom if you’ll be interrupted by grown men overreacting to other grown men kicking balls?

You settle for the living room–at least there’s a television there, something that can drown out the sound. You’d stay in your room, but you know your sleep schedule–you won’t be falling asleep for the next five hours, and you’ve made peace with that inconvenience.

Leaning into the cushions, you curl up a bit more, focusing on the idle screen. It’s playing some shitty rom-com, something that barely stimulates any part of your mind, but the commotion outside is slowly being forgotten, and you ease into the cheesy movie.

You jump when the garage door shuts, and you quickly turn your head over the couch to see who just entered your house: two men, standing tall, laughing quietly among themselves, rambling on about the game. One turns, the shorter one, noticing the peeking eyes over the back of the couch, and he narrows his eyes, smirking.

“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice deep, low, shaking his head as he holds the empty beer box. “Your daddy says there’s an extra case… somewhere… mind helpin’ us?”

The other one beside him, just a bit taller, glances out of the corner of his eye, his hands straightening the hem of his shirt. You sigh quietly, nodding and crawling off the couch, wandering towards the two of them.

“Thanks, baby,” the other one finally chimes in, his voice much different, softer, gentler, and you suddenly feel the weight of two men towering behind you as you lead them towards the small fridge, where your dad specifically left beers to chill.

“There you go,” you say softly with a confident nod, turning around to face the two of them, and they have the same look on their face; knowing, eyes darkened and low–barely drunk, but tipsy enough to be staring at their friend’s daughter.

“Perfect, thank you, baby,” the taller one says, leaning a bit forward and patting your shoulder, warm fingers grazing the bare skin revealed by the thin strap of your tank top. You nod again.

You slowly walk back towards the living room, glancing back at the two of them; hovering around the mini fridge, one leaned down, fishing out three beers, and you settle back onto the sofa. 

“Hey,” one of them says, and you look back again, but they’re both approaching the living room, bypassing the garage door. You furrow your eyebrows, biting your lip.

“Yeah?” you ask quietly, swallowing back the nerves settling in your throat.

“Want one?” he asks, and the taller one nudges him slightly–he’s the quieter one, you notice, always making faces and glances when the confident, short one says something your dad would punch him in the face for.

“Yeah… yeah, that would be cool,” you smile and nod, watching as the two men part ways, both walking on each side of the couch, carefully crowding you in.

You don’t realize what’s happening until either one is sitting beside you, and you’re sandwiched between them. You’d be lying if you didn’t feel the slightest bit lucky; they were always the ones you found most attractive, the ones who gave you attention when you’d stare at them during stupid backyard get-togethers. 

“Thanks… thank you,” you say nervously, taking the cold beer from the one on your right, giving him a polite nod. He’s looking past you at the one on your left; he’s adjusting his hips, his longer legs struggling to adapt to the smaller space. He’s so tall.

“Of course,” he mumbles, a charming smile pulling into his lips, and he’s finally looking at you. You bite your lip out of habit.

“Sweetheart,” the left one begins, and you’re turning your head, suddenly realizing how overwhelming this is; two men, two handsome men, two sets of prying eyes, four hands, and you’re struggling to process it. “We’re just sorry about your daddy, yelling and all that,” he grins.

You feel the touch from behind, not the one you’re making eye contact with, gently pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. You flinch, laugh nervously, and look between them.

“No… no, it’s okay, I’m used to it.” You shake your head, unable to choose which one to focus on.

“It’s not okay, sweetheart,” the one behind you chimes in, pulling his hand away from your hair, and you can only focus on him now–the short one, you register. “Not very polite of us to disturb a guest,” he smiles again, and you’re smiling too, but nerves fuel it. 

“I swear–it’s okay, it’s fine, you don’t have to worry about that,” you defend quickly, shaking your head, and the taller one suddenly has a light grip of your hair, a fistful of it, forcing your head to face him instead.

“You don’t have to take things you don’t like,” he says quietly, shaking his head as if he’s scolding you. “You’re tough, though; we’ve noticed it,” he adds, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to deal with men like that,” a deeper voice says–you noticed it: the cockier, shorter one has a deeper voice, and the taller, gentler one has a softer one.

Huh. Funny how that works. 

“Yeah, he’s right,” the soft voice says, and you’re staring into his eyes, nodding like you’re somehow being hypnotized. You wish you weren’t so weak, but you are.

A flick of his eyes has the other one joining in, leaning forward and gently kissing your neck from behind. Your eyes flutter, and the one before you smiles, already watching you melt. 

The tall, soft one with the soft voice, and the shorter, rough one with the deep voice.

 That’s the only way your fuzzy brain can distinguish the two of them.

“She’s already enjoying it,” he suddenly calls out, the one your brain has deemed as soft and tall, and you look at him, lips parting in embarrassment. “You like how he’s kissing you, baby?”

You’re moaning softly now, feeling lips move more insistently after hearing how much you’re apparently enjoying it. His deep voice mumbles against your neck: “Gonna let him touch you while I kiss you, sweetheart?”

The one who is holding your hair, tall with that soft voice, still slides his hand away, gently cupping your cheek instead, feeling you lean into it; eyes heavy and cheeks flush, feeling lips moving again, sliding up to your jaw, and you’re whimpering.

“You tell him you want me to touch you?” the tall one asks, his voice soft and quiet. The soft one, right.

You can feel the rough one, well, getting rough: his hand gently grips your waist from behind, practically guiding you to lie back against him, between his legs, while the other one nudges his way between your parted thighs. It’s hard to believe this is real, but it is.

You stare up, blinking slowly, the one above you moving his long legs, nudging your thighs apart, all while your neck still has attention on it; light kisses, and now rough hands cradling your hips.

“How’re you feeling, baby?” he mumbles as he kisses your neck, and you’re staring up, seeing a completely different man looking down at you. It’s hard to comprehend it: two different men, touching you, wanting you.

“Good… I feel good,” you mumble, and the one between your thighs is currently spreading yours even further, smirking, his ears paying close attention to the conversation he’s not a part of. 

“Good.. you deserve to feel good,” the shorter one whispers beneath you, a trail of saliva spreading across the slope of your neck. “Isn’t that right? Our girl deserves to feel good?” he suddenly asks, clearly not talking to you.

“Of course,” the one above you mumbles casually, nodding, leaning closer, two hands finding the waistband of your shorts, lightly tugging the fabric down. “Such a good girl.”

“Your daddy always tells us how good you are,” a deep voice is mumbling into your ear, but your eyes watch above you, lips parted in awe, and he’s working your underwear off; meanwhile, the one beneath you is holding your hips still.

You shift your hips awkwardly, but a rough grab of your body keeps you still, and the one who nudged his way between your thighs is slowly tossing your underwear aside, and you breathe heavier and heavier, gazing up at him.

“Stay still, let him do what he needs to do,” you feel against your ear, eyes focusing on strong hands unbuckling his belt, and you’re melting into the firm body beneath you, all the while, the other way is undressing himself.

“Keep kissing her neck,” you hear from above you, and lips are back against your neck, slowly closing your eyes as you give in to the feeling. “Wish you could see what she looks like.” 

Big hands rub your thighs, another pair holding your hips, keeping you still and spread open. You’re moaning softly again, panting quietly, overwhelmed by the feelings, and the next time your eyes flutter, you quickly realize he’s about to fuck you right here, with his damn friend beneath you.

“I–” you stutter quietly, but a large hand slides from your hip and clasps over your mouth, suddenly shutting you up, and the one who is currently aligning himself with you is smirking, looking past you, nodding. 

“Keep quiet for him, baby,” a rough voice says into your ear, and you tip your head back onto his shoulder, suddenly feeling pressure between your warm thighs; he’s already burying himself in you, and the other short one is soothing you, kissing your jaw still.

You whimper into his palm. Meanwhile, the tall one, buried inside of you, has his hands holding your knees, keeping them spread open, ensuring he has all the room in the world to push deeper and deeper, and your hips attempt to lift; thank God the other one has one hand pinning them down, the other forbidding any noise to come out of your mouth.

He’s groaning softly, head tipped back in awe, and you can feel every inch of him inside of you; warm and thick, twitching, and you’re being gently cradled in the arms of another man the entire time.

“She takes me so fucking good,” he drawls out, the soft voice bordering on rough, and the one beneath you chuckles. “So.. fucking tight,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

“Yeah? She feel good?” he asks beneath you, his eyes turning to see what you look like; eyes squeezed shut, forehead glistening with sweat. “Looks like the poor thing feels good, too,” he taunts, slowly sliding a hand away from your hip.

“Mhm, feels like a fucking dream,” he agrees, smiling through the groans and moans he can't conceal, and you’re sinking further into the one who is still lightly kissing at your neck, but you notice his hand detaching from your hip, sliding to press against your stomach.

“Gonna let him fill you up, huh?” he chimes in, applying pressure to your stomach. “Think you owe it to him, for fucking you so good, yeah?” he taunts again, the roughness poking its head out, influencing his sharp words you’re getting sick off.

You whine against the warm palm, clenching around the one above you, and the stretch sends your head back, tipping further onto the other one’s shoulder. It feels so good, waves of guilt and pleasure clashing.

“God, she’s fucking tight,” the tall one groans with a solid thrust, pushing deeper into you, your body pressing against the thick one beneath yours. “Wraps around me so nicely, isn’t that right, baby?” he asks you, and you’re nodding, feeling licks against the shell of your ear.

The hand on your stomach slides lower, and you suddenly feel a warm thumb push against your clit, a gentle circle, only adding to the stimulation. You whine louder into the palm, noticing the two other hands above you forcing yourself to spread open more.

“You’re gonna break her,” he mumbles between your legs, talking to one who is currently kissing your neck from behind, all while focusing on rubbing slow circles, right against that one part of you that even you barely fucking touch. “Need some help, yeah?”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, nose scrunching as the two men communicate, and you watch a hand slide down your thigh; two fingers part, lightly spreading you open, forcing your clit to be on display, all while the other one’s thumb presses down harder. He’s fucking you, and keeps you stretched.

“Oh, baby,” the one beneath you coos, kissing your jawline, rubbing circles, the one above you still fucking into you, a helping hand spreading your folds, eager to help his friend, and you. “All spread for us, aren’t you?”

“So stretched out, you are,” he groans, the thrusts becoming quicker, harder, his body leaning forward slightly to keep that hand between your thighs, allowing those long fingers to keep that sensitive bud right in the open. 

It’s a burst of warmth with that final thrust, and he pushes in deeper than you thought you could handle. He finishes, deep, that full feeling, accompanied by the continuous, agonizing drag of the stray thumb on your clit. You’re helplessly whining into a palm still wrapped around your mouth, your eyes shutting.

“She’s stuffed,” he groans, pulling out, his hand sliding away from between your thighs, though the one beneath you insists on letting you ride out the orgasm, still circling. “Like, leaking onto the front of your fucking jeans, stuffed,” he scoffs, gazing down at the unfortunate mess you’re making.

He chuckles into your ear, and the tall one admires the piece of work you are; flushed and already exhausted, cum dripping out of you, and he glances at his friend, who is kissing your jaw still.

“Your turn,” he smiles, and your eyes widen at the thought–round two, different guy? 

The thought makes you dizzy, and you whine into your hand, eyes blinking quickly.

“It’s only fair, sweet girl,” he coos like he wasn’t just buried inside of you, his own hands now reaching forward and grabbing hold of your hips, the hand against your clit redacting, and the two men are working you into a different position. 

You gasp in relief when the hand is pulled away, panting heavily, nervous eyes glancing around the living room. The television is still playing; there’s quiet chatter from the garage, and it hits you that you’re really doing this in your living room.

“My–my dad,” you plead softly, feeling the way you’re being carefully lifted, noticing the four sets of hands working around; it’s confusing; you can barely pick out who is who; just long fingers, quick, touching you effortlessly.

“What about him, baby?” the one you’re now straddling asks, the short one–reverse cowgirl, to be exact- quickly realizing you’re about to be fucked by him next, and you glance down; he’s already pulling himself out, thick and ready.

“Don’t watch that, watch me.” A strong hand grabs your chin, and you’re forced to look up at him; instead of the taller one fucking you this time, he’s half-kneeling on the couch, getting you almost eye-level with his groin–he’s always been tall, and it’s working to his advantage. 

Another pair of hands is holding your soft hips, carefully aligning you, all while you stare up at the other man, eyes darkened, ready to watch you be used a second time, eager to see the same expressions that curled at your lips and scrunched at your nose. Though he knows your mouth will be full this time around.

“Gonna fuck her mouth, use it too?” he asks below you, pressing up into your already used hole, and you whine softly, which makes him quickly nod.

“To shut her up, yeah,” he chuckles, condescendingly, acting like you’re barely part of the conversation, merely an observer, and you whimper, glancing behind you at the short one. He pats your hip, telling you to focus on the man who is tall and looming over.

You look back, and it nudges your lip, the tip of him, and he reaches out, gently patting your head. “Look at me, baby,” he mumbles, and you whine softly, closing your eyes instead.

It’s simultaneous; the thrust of the hips beneath you, carried by the way he nudges his cock between your pouty lips. It’s all-consuming, and your mind instantly goes fuzzy at the feeling of being completely stuffed–both ends.

Two large hands grip your hips, guiding them, adjusting them, keeping a steady rhythm that has your eyes rolling back, though a sound can’t leave your mouth; it’s full, and drool trickles down your chin, feeling the veins rolling across your tongue, the prodding against the back of your throat.

The lack of moans from you is made up of gags instead, soft chokes of slight defiance, a reaction to your body adjusting to the size of both; one focused on fucking up into you, while the other keeps a hand on your head, holding it steadily, mercilessly moving back and forth.

“Good girl, that’s it, baby” rings in your ears, and at this point it’s difficult to tell which voice is speaking to you; with three hands on you, both ends pounded, it’s hard to register a single word.

“Taking us so well,” a low voice hums, and you’re sure it’s the one pushing deep inside you, into your stomach, focusing on going deeper and deeper, but it’s hard to tell with your eyes closed and your mouth stuffed.

“Looking like a fucking dream, huh?” the one who is using your throat asks, and you can’t make a sound, but the one beneath you does; “God, feels like one–you were right,” he grunts out, panting softly.

Your eyes fill with tears, just a plain reaction to what you’re feeling, and he smiles, his head tipping back in a nod. “You’re okay, sweetheart, we’re… we’re taking care of you,” he reassures.

It’s all so fuzzy; the voices are a blend, no longer soft or rough, just a mindless haze of lust washing over you, and them, of course. You’re choking on the one stuffed in your mouth, his long legs giving an unforgiving angle, and the short one is still holding your hips, fucking up into you. 

Both ends are currently being stuffed in your living room, and all you can do is gag and whine about what’s in your mouth and what’s happening beneath. It’s rough and soft, warm and cold, the two men clashing, and you don’t even know who is who; you just know that every inch of you is being used, and you sit and take it.

The tall one has his hand on your head, thrusting into your mouth, and he’s watching behind your shoulder, his friend mercilessly fucking up into you. He grins at the sight, panting and sweating, and it happens like a burst of lightning; both of them finish at the exact same time.

It’s the most overwhelming thing you think you’ve felt; three times, being filled, and you’re whining when he finally pulls out of your mouth, immediately wiping the cum, but still stuffed from the other end. You’re a mess, an absolute mess, and the tall one grasps your face, his hands holding your cheeks.

It happened again: his shift ran late, and he found himself creeping into the house past ten, tired as ever, and popping open a whisky bottle while lingering in the kitchen.

He chugged the small glass back, rubbing his hands over his face, glancing at the front foyer. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw your white sneakers kicked off by the door again–you were with his son, somewhere in the house, doing something.

Now he lies wide awake in his empty bed, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the noise that makes him want to blow his head off: your soft moans, little whines and whimpers, and the occasional grunt from his son that has him grimacing.

“I’d rather you do it in the house, safe… than elsewhere,” he had told his son, urging him to have sex in the safety of his bedroom, as opposed to elsewhere the two of you might tangle yourself up in.

He quickly realized that this was a poor decision–he couldn’t blame the two of you, assuming his dad was off working, the house to yourselves, but now he has to lie there in a painful silence, listening to your moans.

“What…” you mumble softly as your boyfriend rolls off you, and your eyebrows furrow when your head turns to look at him; he’s on his side now, reaching for his phone.

“What?” he mumbles, looking over his shoulder at his girlfriend, still on her back, completely unfinished. 

“I’m… I didn’t… I didn’t… you know,” you tell him, a warmth creeping up on your cheeks as you look over at him, and he scoffs, like it isn’t that important. You’re humiliated.

“I did, though,” he shrugs and rolls on his back too, tucking his body beneath the covers, his phone propped in his lap. “Couldn’t last any longer, sorry, baby,” he mumbles, looking at the glowing screen.

“This is like… the fourth time,” you complain, your eyebrows stitching in frustration. “You finish in less than a minute, and then tell me that you can’t make me cum because you’re too tired,” you explain, glaring at him. 

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t feel so good,” he smiles, looking over at you, expecting you to take it as a compliment. You have a blank face.

“Doesn’t feel good for me,” you mumble, finally pulling up the blankets too, covering up your bare chest shyly. 

“Come on, babe,” he groans, putting his phone face down onto the bed. “I’ve been stressed lately… you know, and… it helps.”

You’ve never rolled your eyes harder at a statement, and you scoff, rolling onto your side and away from him. He’s never checked in on you–if you’re fucking stressed and need to finish or whatever the hell excuse that is. “Okay,” you mumble softly and look at the clock, groaning to yourself, eyes shutting.

And now his dad stands in the kitchen at nine o’clock in the morning, yawning, grabbing some coffee, watching the way you descend from the stairs, a sleepy smile on your face.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, pouring a glass of coffee for himself, and you give him a shy nod.

“Good morning,” you smile, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands, and he leans against the counter, holding the mug.

“You two sleep well?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, bringing the bitter drink to his lips.

“Uhm… mhm,” you nod shyly, pausing in front of the island in the centre of the kitchen, leaning against it. It’s almost as if he knows–he does.

“He gonna be awake soon?” he asks you, his mouth still around the mug.

“I don’t think so… he was out when I got out of bed,” you explain with a shrug, and he nods in understanding, turning around.

He doesn’t look like your boyfriend, and you tell yourself it’s unfortunate, while also beating yourself up for even thinking something like that. He’s tall and broad, his muscles straining against his white shirt, his sweatpants low on his hips, his forearms thick. You sigh quietly to yourself, wondering if your boyfriend inherited the can’t make a woman cum trait. Your cheeks burn red when the stupid thought slips in. 

“Can make you breakfast, darlin’,” he offers, still turned around, strong hands fixing up something.

“What–no, no, thank you, it’s okay,” you quickly shake your head, your eyes gazing at the back of his head, and he glances over at you, smiling.

“You sure? Not even toast with some butter, honey?” he offers again, reaching for the bread. “Wouldn’t be a trouble, making myself some, too,” he reassures, and you bite your lip, sliding into the stool against the island.

“Okay… yes, please,” you give in and nod, and he carefully pulls out four pieces of bread, popping them into the toaster, two pieces at a time. 

“You two doing anything today?” he asks, turning back away, patiently waiting for the toast to be done. “Beautiful day out,” he nods, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Uhm… no, I don’t think so,” you shake your head, resting your elbows against the island. “There’s some… video game, or something coming out, and he wants to buy it–all of his friends are playing it today,” you laugh, knowing you’ll be sitting on his bed, just watching.

“And you like that?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, and you’re not sure if it’s a test to see how much you like this man’s son.

“I don’t mind,” you shrug, looking away and out of the window; blue skies and a warm sun, a breeze slipping in through the window. You’re going to spend your whole day upstairs. 

“Don’t mind, or don’t like it?” he asks again, turning around when the two pieces pop out, and he’s reaching for the butter and honey. “Just cause he’s my son doesn’t mean everything he does is good in my eyes,” he adds on, using a knife to swipe on the butter.

“I know,” you nod, sitting up a bit more when he slides the pieces of toast in front of you. “But… there isn’t really anything to do anyway,” you lift a piece of toast, taking a bite.

“Nothing to do? Mid-July?” he scoffs, the other two pieces going in, and he leans on his forearms against the island. “Swimming down at the lake? Farmer’s market? A movie, even,” he explains further, his eyes looking into yours.

“I mean, I guess,” you laugh a little, putting the piece of toast down. “We don’t do… date stuff, like I don’t really need dates, and dinner, and stuff,” you shrug, and he’s amused at how this kid he raised turned out to be such a piece of shit. 

“Is he your boyfriend or your friend?” he suddenly presses, and you’re licking the honey residue on your lips, and he’s watching the swipe of your tongue.

He can’t help it; you’re sitting there, sleepy eyes looking at him, wearing nothing but a sweet nightgown, soft skin, and soft hands, and his son doesn’t know how to deal with any of that. It’s infuriating. 

“Boyfriend,” you say quietly, staring at the crumbs on your plate. “We do dating stuff at home,” you explain, and you watch him roll his eyes.

“Yeah? Like what?” he asks as the toast pops up, and he’s turning back around to pull it out. “I’m listening,” he taunts, and you’re biting your lip, watching his biceps when he puts butter on his toast. It’s so simple, but you’re staring.

“Like… you know,” you laugh again, and he’s smiling too, turning around with his own plate.

He stares at you now, watching you take another bite–yeah, he knows what you mean: lazy, boring sex, where you lie there, and your boyfriend basically uses you as a hole, and you take it because he’s the first boyfriend you’ve ever had and you don’t know any better. He could show you what it’s supposed to feel like; that’s all that’s going through his head. 

“Mmm,” he nods in acknowledgement, watching his jaw when he chews the bread, and you tilt your head to the side. He briefly wipes his mouth, glancing at the window; warm and sunny.

“Why don’t you get your bathing suit on?” he abruptly asks, and you quickly remember, yeah, there’s a swimming pool in the backyard, and your boyfriend never lets you use it for some reason.

“Uhm…” you mumble and shake your head a little, not knowing how your boyfriend would feel if he walked down and saw his dad with his girlfriend outside, and she’s wearing a bikini. 

“He won’t be up until noon,” he says, and you know he’s right; most of the time he sleeps in way past noon, leaving you bored and alone. You smile, carefully moving out of the stool.

“Okay,” you give in, and quickly disappear from the kitchen and back upstairs into your boyfriend’s bedroom. He’s still asleep, groaning when you crack open the door.

Digging through your overnight bag, you find your bathing suit and scowl at the look of it. You were going to wear this with your boyfriend, alone, hidden away in the lake he promised you he’d take you to; it was a little skimpy, and it was supposed to be–it was for your boyfriend; you didn’t want to wear something dorky. It’s all you have. 

The white, loose straps slide over your bare body, and you’re trying your best not to wake your sleeping boyfriend. You look down and swallow hard, noticing how little coverage there really is, then grab your towel from your bag and head back downstairs.

He’s already out by the pool, lounging in a chair; legs propped up on the small table before him, a mug in one hand, and his book in the other. His eyes lift when the screendoor opens, and you step outside, towel modestly wrapped around you, even though in seconds it’ll be draped over a chair. He smiles. 

You slip off the towel and instantly feel the summer heat on your arms and legs, a consistent warmth brushing along your skin. You can’t believe your boyfriend wanted to spend the day in his bedroom, rotting in front of a desk, playing video games. 

“Sweetheart,” his dad interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your head, your bare feet standing halfway on the steps. “Too sunny for you not to be wearing sunscreen,” he scolds lightly, shifting to the edge of the chair, closing his book and placing it on the table with the mug.

“I… I didn’t bring any,” you shake your head and stare at him, and he clicks his tongue.

“That’s fine,” he nods as he stands to his feet, reaching forward–right there, a bottle sitting on the table- and he waves you over to him. “Don’t want you to burn.”

When you approach him, he just gestures for you to turn around, and you swallow hard, no longer facing him. It’s cold when the cream hits your skin, and he’s applying it to your back for you, strong hands moving over your back and shoulders, one hand tucking your hair to keep it out of the sticky mess. 

“It’s cold, yeah?” he jokes, and gently pats your hip, and you turn around. “I know it’s hard to get your back,” he explains, and hands you the bottle so you can do the rest; your legs and stomach–he knows that would be a little too invasive, but you wouldn’t protest.

You hesitantly sit down beside him, using your hands to rub the cream onto your legs and thighs, trying to ignore the fact he’s watching you; hands roaming across the skin, your bikini strap slipping down your shoulder, and he bites back a groan, settling back into the chair again. 

“The water’s warm,” he comments when you stand to your feet, and his eyes immediately roam over you, focusing on the bottoms hugging you, framing you.

You look over your shoulder, and he’s crossing a leg over the other, his heels resting on the table again, and he’s holding his mug. He smiles at you, and you smile back, finally dipping into the water.

It’s beyond refreshing, and you sigh in relief when you’re waist deep. The summer heat immediately disappears as you sink lower and lower, just until your head is visible, and he’s watching, eyes peeking from his book. You’re smiling, gliding through the water and into the deep end, quickly dipping your head under.

When you come up, he’s already looking at you, nodding. Your hair is soaking wet, draping over your body, and he breathes in heavier, adjusting his hips. He’s mad just looking at you–you’re his son’s; that’s who you belong to, and it pains him. 

You swim to the edge after a bit, resting your chin on your forearms that cross over the concrete, the majority of your body still submerged, and he notices, putting the book down in his lap. He quirks his eyebrow, tilting his head, and you give him a grin.

“What?” he calls over to you, and you can only smile at him, and he’s tempted to walk over.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, and he’s setting the book down, standing up. You gulp, watching him saunter over, slow strides to the edge of the pool.

He stands there, hovering right over you, and you stare up at him, head completely tipped back. Your head slides up, shielding the sun, and he’s looking over his shoulder, gesturing for you to get out.

“He’ll be up soon, sweetheart,” he tells you, resting his hands on his hips now, and you sigh, swimming backwards. He smiles at the childish reaction and walks over towards the pool stairs, not getting in.

You slowly swim towards him, and he’s reaching out, offering his hand, and you take it, slowly coming out of the water. He glances down, watching the droplets drip down your body, and you shiver, covering your arms from the summer breeze. 

“Atta girl,” he mumbles when you get out, reaching over to grab your towel and carefully placing it over your shoulders for you. He pats your back gently, eyes focused on your damp lashes and flushed cheeks.

He carefully guides you back inside, his hand on your upper back against the towel, and you freeze the minute you step into the kitchen; your boyfriend sits there, hunched over the dining table, shoving a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. He looks up and over at you, grinning–that stupid fucking grin.

“You guys didn’t even wait for me.” he shakes his head, and you feel his dad quickly pull away like he was caught doing something. “I would’ve joined you, or some shit,” he says through a mouthful, and his dad is rolling his eyes.

“Kid, we don’t have all day,” his dad chimes in, lightly pressing his thumb in your lower back. “You’re dripping everywhere,” he mumbles into your ear, and you’re staring at your boyfriend who is focused on the bowl of milk.

Right. Your hair is wet from the pool, and the pool water is on the tile.

“Sorry–sorry,” you shake your head, and he smiles, patting your back now, ushering you to get changed upstairs.

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he drawls out, and you begin to walk towards the staircase, being careful not to slip.

He looks between his son and you; this beautiful girl, all wet, sun-kissed skin, and he sits there, mouth full of cereal, ignoring his half-naked girlfriend running upstairs. Maybe he’s that much of a fucking pervert for staring at you–he shakes the thought off as a moral dilemma, sighing and heading to the kitchen. 

You return after just a few minutes; hair still damp, but a white dress is thrown on, and your boyfriend’s dad notices before he does. He grinds his teeth, watching his son not even bothering to look up from his cellphone.

“Kid,” his dad calls out, and he quickly lifts his head, finally noticing you.

“You look hot,” your boyfriend nods, setting his phone onto the table, and you bite your lip shyly, looking over your shoulder for a second; those darker eyes are looking at you from the kitchen, and he’d use more than ‘hot’ to describe how you look right now.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he lifts his hand, taking yours and pulling you a little closer. He’s still at the table, and you’re awkwardly standing by the chair. 

“My buddies are gonna be on in like thirty minutes,” he tells you, looking up at you from the chair. “Wanna…” he mumbles so his dad won’t hear, but he does, and pretends like he’s focused on refilling his coffee.

“I… just got dressed,” you whisper, shaking your head a little, already knowing how the sex would be.

“Yeah? And you look hot,” he grins, taking his hand from you, and shamelessly smacking the side of your hip, and you shift a little, shaking your head again.

“Not right now,” you mumble, and he sighs, leaning back into the chair.

His dad is listening to this entire kitchen despite the fact he’s in front of the sink, currently focused on scrubbing down a plate, though his ears are on both of you: your light banter, his son begging his girlfriend for sex, and she’s expecting the absolute worst. He wants to go in there and take you away, wants to show you how it’s supposed to be. He can only grit his teeth. 

“Fine,” he says, standing up, lifting his hands like he's guilty. “You can watch me game for six hours… without any sex later,” he whispers the last part, and you step aside, eyebrows furrowed.

“Come on,” you grumble when he turns his back on you, already leaving to log onto some stupid video game. “I’m dressed!” you want to stomp your foot like a petulant child, but he’s already heading up the stairs, his bedroom shutting. 

“You okay, kid?” his dad suddenly chimes in, and you look up and over into the kitchen. “Can take you somewhere if that’s what you’re worried about,” he offers, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Just… I don’t know, I thought he’d take me somewhere if I looked pretty,” you tell him, laughing at how stupid it sounds, and his gut twists at that stupid sentence.

“You do look pretty,” he says casually, tipping his head back to finish off the last drops of the coffee. “Where’d you wanna go?” he asks, putting his hands into his sweatpants pockets and slowly walking over to you.

“I don’t know,” you shake your head, looking away, not even knowing where you’d go–you weren’t used to being taken anywhere, especially with any man.

“Mmm…” he hums, trying to think of where he’d take a young thing like you. “Can take you down to the diner, for lunch,” he offers, and you immediately beam at the idea.

“Really? I mean–we don’t have to; he’ll probably take me later, or something,” you quickly intervene, not wanting to cause any trouble, but he’s nodding towards the front door. 

“Get your shoes on, I’ll be ready,” he tells you, quickly turning away, giving you little time even to protest. 

Sitting on the bench in the front hall is when it hits; you’re going out for lunch with your boyfriend’s dad; meanwhile, your boyfriend is in his bedroom, gaming, oblivious to what’s happening. You smile to yourself at the thought, leaning over, tying the laces of your white tennis shoes.

“You ready, kid?” that deep voice says, and you quickly look up; he threw on some casual clothes–just jeans and a basic T-shirt, not bothering to shave off his five o’clock shadow before heading back down, and you nod.

He opens the front door and lets you out first, fumbling with the keys to his car, letting you climb into the passenger seat. He quickly joins you, and reversing out of the driveway, heads downtown where the little diner is located. You awkwardly shift against the leather seats, not really knowing what to talk about, what to say, or how to act. He’s intimidating.

You glance over, and he’s lighting a cigarette, having it propped in his mouth, his free hand holding the Zippo lighter to it, and you watch him. He looks over at you, raising his brows. 

“I didn’t know you…” You laugh a little, and he laughs out a breath of smoke.

“I shouldn’t,” he denies, holding the wheel with the same hand that holds his cigarette. “Plenty of things we shouldn’t do but still do,” he shrugs, and you can tell it has a double meaning. You look out of the window. 

The diner is busy, and it makes sense; a Saturday afternoon, and you hop out of the car when he parks, and he does it effortlessly–not the parking, the way he takes hold of your hand, squeezing it, keeping you close to his side. It’s a protective gesture, maybe not even romantic. 

You look up at him, and he’s focused on heading to the front doors, quickly opening it for you.

“You want a booth, sweetheart?” he asks you while you wait for a hostess, and you nod. That’s the first thing he asks when the middle-aged woman approaches the two of you, holding two menus, grinning, red lipstick on her teeth. 

“Father-daughter date?” she asks, a twang in her voice, and you look down at the table when you slide into the booth.

“Daughter, almost, yeah,” he nods, settling in the booth in front of you, taking a menu. 

She takes out her notepad. “Sweet. What can I get y’all to drink?”

“Just… water, please, that’s fine,” you speak up first, and she’s immediately jotting down the order.

“Just a coffee, black,” he grins at the waitress, and she’s off, heading into the back to grab the drinks.

This is what you were nervous about–how awkward it suddenly is. He sits there, rubbing his scruff in thought, staring at his son’s daughter, and your head is bowed slightly, gazing at the table. 

“You doing anything tonight at least?” he speaks up, resting his forearms on the table, his hands collapsed together. “Movie? Dinner?”

You shake your head. “No… he’s gonna be doing something silly,” you shrug, looking up at him.

He sighs and leans back into the booth, adjusting his hips, licking his lips. You watch in awe, blinking slowly, and you hate the light you’re seeing him in; beyond your boyfriend’s dad.

“I’ll make a movie night happen,” he reassures, looking back to you. “Just at home, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he promises, his eyes glancing at the waitress as she places down the drinks.

You can’t even protest against the idea again; he’s already ordering for himself- just a burger and fries–and you order waffles, feeling relieved that they were still serving breakfast, and he smirks at your choice. Somehow he knew.

“Going back to college in September?” he asks, holding the fresh coffee to his lips.

You take a sip of your water. “Yeah.” 

“He tells me you’re a smart girl,” he quips, putting down the mug, and you blush.

“Yeah… right,” you say sarcastically, biting your lip.

“No… no, I believe him,” he reassures, running his tongue against his teeth. “I can just tell, you know? Smart thing you are,” he says, and you hate the way your thighs squeeze together.

He breathes through his nose, a heavy huff, like he knows you’re almost squirming in the booth. And then comes the second thought: your moans and whines, how sickeningly sweet they were, and how he wishes he could be the one to coax them out of you. To make you finish.

“Waffles for the girl,” a woman’s voice suddenly breaks the silence, sliding the plate towards you. “And a burger for dad… enjoy,” she nods, quickly leaving the two of you alone. 

“Dad,” you repeat quietly, laughing under your breath, your eyes gazing at the mess of waffles.

“Father-in-law, if things keep going well,” he says, almost taunting, hanging the horrid idea over your head, and your heart drops at the idea of marriage, marrying that boy who doesn’t know shit about you, shit about anything that matters.

“Yeah, my father-in-law,” you mumble sarcastically, and he picks up on it, nudging your ankle with his boot. He does it so smoothly that anyone would call you crazy if you pointed it out, but it was intentional, and you know it. 

Lunch is quiet, and you don’t mind it, not at all. You occasionally glance up at him, and he’s usually already looking at you, watching your lips covered in syrup, your teeth, the way you bite, the way you chew, the way each part of your body moves. He grinds his teeth.

“You all full yet?” he asks, putting down his burger, and the words make you laugh, even with your mouthful of syrup and chocolate chip pancakes.

“Yeah… I’m full,” you mumble, placing down your fork. “Stuffed, even,” you continue with a laugh, and you see the muscles in his jaws clench. You’re not sure if there’s a play on words going on, but you feel a warmth in your stomach.

“Yeah, you finished?” he responds, and you can tell he’s not talking about breakfast food and sweet waffles. He’s talking about last night, and you blink, shifting against the booth, and he pokes his cheek with his tongue.

“I usually never finish,” you shake your head, looking back up at him, slightly gesturing to the plate with a little bit of food left. 

He knows what you mean. You both do. 

“Maybe you can finish this time,” he says back to you, looking at the scraps. “Finish for me?”

The tension is cut when the waitress is sliding the bill onto the table,e and you snap your head to look at her, like she might have a clue as to what that subtle conversation was about. She’s waiting as he takes the bill, fishing into his pocket for his wallet, and throwing a few bills onto the table.

“You ready to go?” he checks when the waitress wanders off, and you’re still stuck on the whole conversation about finishing and not finishing, but you nod, shifting out of the booth. 

He puts his hand on your back as you’re leaving, guiding you out of the place, his hand fingers lightly curling into the cotton of your dress. He gazes down, only being able to admire how you look right now: hair the slightest bit damp from the pool, legs shiny and warm, your eyes hitting the sun just right–all he can think about is his son, and how selfish he is. 

The drive back home is quiet, and you’re always finding yourself looking at him; hands on the wheel, no wedding ring on his finger–you’ve heard your boyfriend complain about it, the divorce, how messy it was, and how his dad never managed to remarry, nor find a woman to date.

You shift in the leather seat, letting your legs part slightly. Your lips go into a thin line, hoping he’d notice. He does. 

He looks away from the road and over at your legs, the gap between where your thighs part, the hem of your dress bunching up. It doesn’t help that the windows are down and the summer breeze catches it, letting it drift up a bit further. You look at him, and he’s looking at you too. It’s silent, just quiet blinking and the distant sound of the radio.

A large hand reaches over, swiftly, and it’s quick; just a gentle pat on your bare thigh, barely a big deal if you told your friends about it, but it’s him, and it’s his look, and he flashes that grin.

“Glad you had fun today,” he mumbles, taking his hand away and resting it back on the steering wheel, and you just stare, cheeks warm. You’re not even sure if your boyfriend touches your thighs like that.

When you walk into the house with him, it’s quiet, just the occasional shouts from upstairs–your boyfriend playing a video game, oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend and father just went out together and secretly talked about his inability to have good sex. He didn’t even check, didn’t even care. 

“I think… I’m gonna go see him,” you mumble to his dad as he shuts the front door, and he looks at you, nodding in understanding. You can’t just do this all day.

His hand catches your cheek, a gentle touch, and you wish you could call it parental, but it’s not. His thumb rubs your cheek, and he’s staring at you, and you’re frozen. Nothing is platonic about it, not a single part of it, and you swallow hard.

“I’ll be down here if you need anything,” he reassures, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Anything, okay?” he confirms, his head leaning down a bit, getting to your height, and you nod.

He watches you disappear up the stairs, and he wants to slap himself across the face when he catches himself trying to see if your dress accidentally slips up when you hit a step. He wants to bunch it up, put you on the counter, and show you that his son is nothing but a product of the man he isn’t. 

It’s painfully boring sitting on your boyfriend’s bed, staring at him, his head turned to you as his hand moves across his mouse, clicking at his keyboard. You sigh and tip your head back against the headboard, waiting for when he’ll give you any ounce of attention. You’re wondering how he can be so neglectful when you’re sitting there in a small dress, your thighs parted in a way so he can see your underwear–you just want attention, anything. 

The next time he looks back is when there’s a knock on his bedroom door, and his dad peeks his head in, looking at the scene: his son at his computer desk, you on the bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. 

“There’s a movie playing downstairs,” he cuts in, and he watches his son scoff, looking back at his game. “You two can go down and watch if you’d like,” he offers, and he looks over at you.

“Not right now,” your boyfriend mumbles, quickly shaking his head. “I have like four other matches after this one,” he adds, looking back at you. “Babe, you can watch if you want.”

His dad looks at you, and you give him a little nod. He gives you a discreet gesture; just two fingers beckoning you to leave his son’s room, and you look at your boyfriend, slowly crawling out of his bed filled with messy sheets and laundry that needs to be hung up. You smile to yourself when you enter the hallway, alone with his dad. 

“Saved you, didn’t I?” he asks, his voice quiet, and you laugh a little.

“Mhm, been doing that for hours,” you mumble, looking down at the hardwood, but his hooked index finger catches your chin, forcing you to look up.

“You don’t deserve that, you know?” he tells you, his eyes darkening with his words. “You're young, and pretty… and smart and nice, and you have a lot going for you, sweetheart,” he says, keeping his voice low. 

You stare up at him with parted lips, covered in gloss from when you were trying to impress your boyfriend. He notices, and doesn’t hesitate to wipe the corner of your mouth where the gloss gathers, letting the glitter stick to his thumb.

“Okay,” you mumble quietly, and he slides his hand down to your shoulder.

The two of you slowly walk down the staircase and into the living room. The television is flicked on, and a movie quietly hums, and you’re sure it’s just there for decoration, but you don’t mind at all. You take a seat on the couch, and it groans when he sits beside you, leaving little room between the two of you. 

“You want something to eat?” he offers, and looks at you, swiftly putting his arm around your shoulder, and you lean into him just a bit.

“Still full from the waffles,” you nod, laughing, and he swipes his thumb over the sleeve of your dress.

“Still?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

You nod again. “Mhm, really full.”

A silence stretches again, and he’s just looking at the side of your face: your nose, your cheeks, your lips, the way your hair is tucked behind your ear, and he wants to lean in and kiss that jawline until you’re whining and withering beneath him. He looks back at the television.

“Brutal kid,” he comments when there’s a scream from upstairs, and you’re assuming your boyfriend just lost a round of whatever video game he’s playing.

“He’s… just passionate,” you defend, still feeling like it’s your job to make your boyfriend seem better than he is.

“Not at much,” he ticks his head, lifting his whisky glass that rested on the side table to his lips. “Right?” he asks for your input, and you hesitantly nod.

“Yeah…” you mumble, and you shift your hips against the couch, and he notices.

“Doesn’t treat you right,” he adds on, shaking his head in distaste.

“He doesn’t,” you admit, and he sighs, sliding his hand from your shoulder and down to your waist, squeezing lightly. You’re trying to act like this is normal.

“Poor girl,” he says quietly as he turns his head again, and you do it at the same time; you’re both just looking at each other in the dimly lit room.

You make a silent agreement; your lips part and his do too, and suddenly, you’re kissing. 

His lips are warm and soft, whisky and cigarettes lingering, and your mouth immediately parts, inviting his tongue in, and he doesn’t hesitate to slip in past yours. You whine into it, and he realizes just how deprived you really are.

It’s a clash of your cotton candy lip gloss and his rough lips, and he’s taking advantage of his hand position. It’s sliding up your dress, and it’s reaching, gripping your bare thighs, pulling you further into the suide of him, and he’s groaning, and your eyes flutter beneath your closed lids. His hands are experienced, careful, his hand finding its way right between your thighs.

“Hey… hey,” you mumble, pulling back, and his hand halts at the front of your underwear. “M’nervous… really scared,” you whisper, feeling his saliva on your lips.

“Don’t be, baby,” he whispers, bypassing your lips and putting his own on the corner of your jaw, where he’d been eyeing earlier. “Gonna make you feel good… promise, kid,” he tells you, and you nod.

His hand lightly cups your core through your underwear, and you realize you’ve never had somebody focus on just a single part of you; you’re always the one giving a hand job, or on your knees, and right now this man’s thumb is working just against you, getting nothing out of it except your reaction. That’s all he wants.

You gasp, and your head tips back, feeling the friction of the cotton against your sensitive skin. You whimper, and he lightly squeezes it, and it’s something you’ve never experienced. It’s warm and rough, his palm. 

“See? Making you feel good,” he whispers into your ear, his nose nudging against it, and you nod, letting your hips almost grind into it, a needy gesture he smiles at.

“Mhm…” you agree, and he pulls away, gripping your hips and guiding you to sit against his thigh. You’re easy to move, especially when he’s strong, and you can feel the muscles through his shirt when you rest your hand on his bicep.

You’re back to kissing; all sloppy and hungry, clearly a result of your boyfriend avoiding any real intimacy. This is what it feels like actually to kiss a man, and the thought makes you guilty, but you know it’s right. 

“Grind your hips for me,” he whispers into the kiss, and you start rocking them, right against his thigh. His hands find your hips, helping you and guiding your movements. “Good girl.” 

You moan into his mouth at the feeling, the pressure and the friction, the constant stimulation right where you need it. It feels better than any sex you’ve had, and this is just with his damn thigh. You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling back, and he looks up at you; head tipped back, neck extended. 

You keep grinding and grinding, moving against his thick thigh, and he’s watching your eyes flutter, and your features contort, all from the pleasure. It’s amusing, knowing his son can’t do this–it’s a sick thought, sour when he almost says it.

“Thank you… thank you,” you whine, and his eyes light up at the way you’re thanking him. You were that desperate, and he’s reliving it, just by letting you ride his thigh. 

“Oh, baby,” he coos quietly, lifting a hand to push your hair back. “Don’t thank me, nothing to be thankful for,” he whispers, brushing your hair back again.

“But… I am… I am,” you whine again, panting, and he can see your hips moving quickly, chasing a high you never seem to reach.

“Need dad to help?” he whispers, and you whimper at the way he’s speaking; low and slow, slick with them, calling himself dad–he’s supposed to be your father-in-law, if things keep going well, right?

“Please… help me,” you ask, and he almost feels bad at how neglected you are, and just how easy you’re melting and begging. He nods. 

“I got you, baby,” he mumbles softly, and he maneuvers you again.

His hands grab at your thighs, and he guides you onto the couch, your back pressing against the leather cushions. He’s between your thighs, working up your dress, looking between your legs now, gazing at the underwear he wanted a peek at; the white fabric is translucent.

“You’re making a mess, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you lift your hips in protest, your head tipping back. He feels his heart breaking–you are so desperate. 

“I know–I know,” you nod quickly, groaning, and he’s just watching in awe. He’s never seen anything like it before, such sexual frustration.

“Dad’s got you,” he reminds, reaching down to tug down your underwear, letting it fall down your thighs and past your knees. He doesn’t toss it aside, though. 

“Need you to be quiet, yeah? Okay, darlin’?” he says, and he does it; he makes you put your underwear in your mouth, gagging it, forcing you to whine into them instead of getting caught. 

You muffle something into the damp fabric, and it’s an unbelievable sight; your hair fanning behind your head, eyes glossy and wide, and your mouth filled with your underwear. It’s out of every sick fantasy he’s ever had of you.

He’s working on his belt now, unbuckling it, letting his jeans and boxers sag–he has to be somewhat discreet, can’t just throw them on the floor. He leans forward, a hand on your thigh, and the other one stroking himself; your eyes widen at the sight, just how long and hard he is.

He notices the look on your face, and his ego boosts. He’s big, bigger than anyone else.

“Yeah, I know,” he almost chuckles, stroking himself, letting his tip run through your folds and your head immediately tips back. “I’ll make it fit, baby,” he promises, nudging in just the head.

Somehow, that’s the best feeling you’ve had in a while; that sting, that stretch you’re not used to, and he’s already groaning himself, not expecting you to be so tight. You are, and he knows this is going to be harder than he thought. 

“Feelin’ so good already,” he praises, pushing in just a bit deeper, and then finally sliding in further. You’re so wet, it doesn’t take any effort for him to glide right in; it’s almost embarrassing.

“There we go… there we go, sweetheart,” he groans out, his head tipping back when you clench around him. It feels so good; he doesn’t know how to articulate words right now–you can’t; your mouth is stuffed. 

He starts slow, long thrusts, pulling out and diving right back in. It’s deep and slow, and he can hear the little whines from behind the cotton underwear, the way your eyes almost roll back each time he goes in fully, and you’re convinced he’s hitting your cervix.

“Never felt this, huh,” he jokes, and you shake your head, gripping the side of the couch cushion. “Never been fucked properly,” he adds, shaking his head with you.

He’s almost running off anger now; the thought of his son being so fucked stupid, so god damn careless, that his dad has to take over and show his girlfriend what it’s supposed to be like. He hates the thought, but it’s pushing him to thrust harder, to grip your thighs tighter, to go deeper and deeper. He can tell you’re enjoying, the blissed-out look bleeding into your features.

It’s the most foreign feeling ever; the sudden tightness in your stomach, the knot, the heat building and building and you’ve never felt this from pure sex. There’s always a hand at play, a thumb working against your clit, some fucking object doing the work, but it’s just him, just his cock making you feel this way. You’re drunk on the thought. 

“Gonna make you cum, baby, all over me,” he promises, grunting louder when he feels you clench, your walls tightening. “First time… yeah? First time being fucked and cumming from it?” 

You whine, head lulling back, but you’re nodding, almost crying at how good it feels to finally feel this way. To feel good. He’s swelling with pride.

“Feeling me all deep in your tummy, aren’t you?” he asks, and you groan, knowing he’s in your guts right now. “Mhm… gonna feel me tomorrow, eatin’ breakfast beside him,” he taunts, his words sharp and almost a threat.

You don’t care that he doesn’t have a condom on, that there’s zero protection–you just want him to fill you, to stuff you, to treat you like you’re supposed to be treated.

“He’s fucking clueless,” he eggs on, and you’re squirming now, trying not to cum. “Clueless m’fucking your brains out, right below him,” he grunts, and he feels you clench and clench, a pulse, and you’re cumming. For the first time.

His own jaw goes slack when he feels the rush, the warmth, the way your back arches and twists in defiance, like you’re fighting against your body. Your cheeks are flushed, and you’re sweating, forehead glistening, and he can only watch it happen between you. 

It doesn’t take long for him to catch up, and he’s cumming too, filling you up, just like you wanted him to; deep and warm, a strong feeling right in the centre of your abdomen, this constant pressure, reminding you how hard he just fucked you, and how hard he came. It’s the risk, how bad this is, how desperate both of you are, and he’s shameless.

“You’re so full… stuffed to the brim, m’promise,” he mumbles, his eyes closed as he pants, not pulling out, refusing to. “Filled with me… just, so full,” he adds on, like he’s drunk on the feeling too.

You’re still lying there, underwear in your mouth, swearing to God you can feel tears brimming at your eyes from just how overwhelmed you are. It feels good, just resting there, feeling more full than your boyfriend has ever made you.

Noel told himself time and time again he could resist your influence. Late nights spent in the studio, hearing the borderline angelic tones coming from the room literally next door to his. Head in his hands, trying to convince himself he wasn’t listening, that this wasn’t even a thing. That you weren’t a thing.

Unfortunately, you were the one thing in his life he hadn’t prepared for.

Noel’s a consistent being, especially since the breakdown of Oasis all those years ago - all he needed now was to live a life that had some form of normalcy. He woke up, kissed his wife good morning, checked if his kids were all sorted for school, then off to the studio to start creating some new songs. Songs to break from old habits with the high flying birds, now a thing living outside of his head rather than in his mind; larger than anything. Noel’s life was good - nice kids, nice house, nice wife most of all; Sara was the best thing in his life, his absolute rock. Almost 20 years married going strong.

So why now was he questioning it all?

He looks up at the ceiling, hands falling away uselessly to his side, hearing the knock on the door.

He let you in immediately.

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

He still remembers the first time he saw you move in. You, some bright eyed 20 something year old, stood in an outfit that showed way too much skin for the cold October day, suckling on a lollipop whilst you watched movers grab boxes upon boxes of equipment. He’d skulked outside to see what all the commotion was about- the studio next door to his had been completely empty for a good few months, the last failing artist having shacked up his stuff, called it a day, left in the night. He was boring- never wanted a chat, never even really paid much attention.

Noel could tell you were different.

He’d felt like such a dick, that day, gawping at you as you flitted between boxes, making sure the men were being “10,000%” careful with your stuff. He’d laughed. Thought you were cute. That was just an age thing, at 44, you were allowed to think the younger generation were cute. That was, at least, until you spotted him.

“Alright?” You said, the sun beating down into your too long lashes, were they fake? Noel couldn’t tell. He wasn’t used to analysing stuff in this much detail. He also wasn’t used to people being so bold around him, “Sorry about the noise, Noel, we’ll be outta your hair soon”

You knew who he was. Of course you did, he was the best fucking thing to come out of Manchester in a long time, there was no doubt about that.

“Oh, you’re alright sweetheart,” He’d said, his voice catching in his throat a little. He swallowed, trying to get rid of some of the tension pulling at his vocal cords, “Need a hand?”

“That’d be fab, thanks”

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

Noel also, regrettably, remembered the first time you’d come around. It’d been a couple of weeks since he’d seen you. But he heard you, alright. Heard the beautiful saccharine tones falling from your lips in the next room over, heard the girly bubbly tunes playing loudly from speakers as what seemed like crowds of your friends gushed all over them, the song distracting him from his own writing. But it wasn’t the song, was it.

He also heard the late night rendezvous with male partners. It’d started off quiet at first, a little giggle here and there while he strummed on his guitar, the slight knocking about of furniture. The sound of a low male rasp against your bubbly feminine tone. Were you-

His question was answered fast, faster than he wanted to. He sat there with his notebook in-front of him, face, unfortunately, blushed a sickening shade of red as he pretended not to listen to the honey sweet sighs falling from your lips, or the way they evolved into something much more pornographic as the thudding from the room got louder.

What was impossible to ignore, was the sick straining of his cock against his jeans.

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

Quickly though, the two of you became friends. Hallway pals at first, a slight nod of his head, and the ridiculously sweet waves you gave him, “y’alright Noel?” slipping from your lips making him smile as he walked off, hands in his pockets, smiling too much for a man who was currently going back to a room his wife was in.

You’d spent some time together, having invited him into your studio space for his input on a song, sitting far too close to him on the couch. He could feel the way your breasts pressed against his arm, not wanting to admit to himself that he actually missed the sensation the second you pulled away, “Yeah- uh, yeah it’s good, darlin’”

“Yeah?” You’d said it in a way that made his stomach drop, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead as he nodded.

He felt sick, not ill, just absolutely twisted. His head held in his hands more often than he’d like these days, cursing himself for the way his dick throbbed in his jeans when he thought of you. Thinking of you with his wife asleep in the bed behind him.

He’d curse himself out, obviously, running hands down his face as he gave into it. Gave into you. Leaning over Sara to kiss her awake, fumbling with his boxers to pull them down as her sleep soft arms made their way around his neck. Sara. He reminded himself as he sunk deep into you. — Her.

But there was still the occasional time your name almost left his lips as he fucked her. Hips snapping feverishly as he shoved her head down into the pillows. It was easier to think it was you that way.

Both of you knew the tension would snap, you felt it for a while. The teasing drag of your hand over his every time you begged him for help. You were so pretty when you did that, leaning against the doorframe all soft, your hair in rollers.

“What’ve you got that shit in for?”

“Got a party later old man, need your help real quick”

He’d let himself stand behind you, one hand bracketing you in on your right side, the other idling by his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. He adjusted a knob on the mixing desk. Showed you how to do it like this was just private tutoring just for you. “Go on try it” He’d said, about to pull back. Until your hand covered his own, feeling the way the music changed in its tone as you moved the knob around. Noel had to bite on his lower lip to stop him from saying anything.

Sure he was old. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still appreciate a pretty little thing like you. With your bright smiles, your pleases and thankyou, the way your hand slammed against the wall you knew the couch in his side of the studio was on when you were being fucked out of your mind. It was only a matter of time before the game was up.

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

The divorce came quietly, but not exactly a surprise. Hell, he’d even conversed it with you.

It’d been a late night, you brought him into your studio mainly for the purpose of trying to flirt through those marital barriers. Sat on the couch - you with a cocktail can held within your perfectly manicured nails tapping against the condensing aluminum. It rocked through his mind like nails down a chalkboard — no, it wasn’t that unpleasant. The sound turned to a silent melody in no time as he turned to look at you.

“Sara and I called it off”

He held your eyes for a moment, steely blue eyes trailing down your soft face, your soft body, that velvet tracksuit you always fucking wore. It was all worse tonight, the feelings, the guilt. The need. He watched you carefully as you shuffled on the couch.

You were trying to hide a smile from your face.

“Really?”

“Really” He echoed, sitting back on the couch with a shrug like it didn't really bother him. It didn't really, he and Sara hadn't been a 'couple' in the traditional sense for years now- romance consisted mainly through the children: talks late at night in bed about how Donovan was getting on in school, was Sonny enjoying that new football team he'd joined? Was Anais coming round soon because they really hadn't seen each other in a while-

His rambling thoughts were cut off by you. You, so much younger, so much sweeter- softer. Nothing like the cold affection he'd received from his actual wife, nothing like he'd felt in months. Especially not when your hand made it's way to his knee, leaning in close like you wanted to whisper a secret, "I'm sorry..."

He swallowed. He didn't want to turn his head where it was focused on a stack of crates across the room. They were pink. Fucking pink. Who in their right mind would have pink crates and a pink studio and who the fuck would be thinking this much about a girl half his age-

He was trying to stop himself from turning towards you.

But the pull proved to be too much. Losing the internal battle- the struggle, he turned his head. Blue eyes met big expectant ones, your lips so close to one another's that if either of you wavered just the slightest bit they'd be brushing, hot breathing mingling in the space between. Too close Noel. He didn't listen to his mind. Licked his lips, trying to fight with the pull to glance down at your own, "Don't be..."

You smiled at that, hand coming up to brush against his jaw so gently as you shifted further up the couch so thighs pressed against his. You could see the way the contact made his jaw work, the way it clicked and his hand tensed on his thigh like he was putting in real effort not to grab you right now. “Don’t be” you repeated softly, thumb brushing over the height of his cheekbone. He looked absolutely torn.

Noel didn't even know what to say, didn't know how to behave. The pull he felt was too strong, too much for him to handle, your thumb dusting across his cheek just pushing him. Pushing him over the edge.

And that's when he kissed you. Warm, soft lips met yours, so soft and gentle the contact felt barely there. His hand made its way to your thigh, warm against the soft fabric of your comfy joggers, gripping tighter as he deepened the kiss. The other made it's way to the base of your hair, tugging slightly as his lips made gape to shove his tongue into your mouth-

Fuck.

He pulled away with a sharp gasp. The memories flooding back in of his wife waiting at home, always so dutiful despite the years of cold affection passed between them. His kids in bed, waiting for the stories dad would come home and tell them of his time in the studio, what he was working on. What was he doing? He couldn't even think properly with the slick little line of spit connecting both of your lips, the warm atmosphere of your fucking girly little studio causing his head to spin, the sweet smell of the soft perfume you always - always wore, the one he always noticed, the one he couldn't get out of bed when he was at home by himself trying not to fuck his fist at the scent of you somehow lingering on his shirt-

But, as always, you cut him off again.

This time with soft lips hitting his harder than before, teeth clashing as you clambered into his lap. "Don't think about it" You breathed against his lips, seated yourself so perfectly over his half hard dick bulging against the seam of his jeans, "Don't think about them". He groaned as you pushed yourself back against him, hands instinctively flying to your thighs to tug you jarder against his growing erection, a slight moan leaving his open lips as he let your tongue invade, hands gripping you impossibly tighter as your tongues fought between your mouths.

"Fuck" He almost growled, pulling away once more - not to stop whatever was going on now - no. He made himself clear, "You're always in my fuckin' head aren't you" Pushing you back by your shoulders until your back rested against the comfy cushions of the couch, already propping himself over you. The hand that had been clenched in the back of your hair now flying down to your throat. Not to squeeze, just to hold, quiet dominance in a way he knew his wife would never let him. Never wanted. But here you were - some pretty ;little thing half his age, the thing he could never get out of his head, finally under his control. The thought made him dizzy. "You've been fucking gagging to get between me and my wife"

He leant down, practically growling the words out against you lips as one thick, calloused hand shoved your thighs open, lowering his hips to press his growing bulge against your core. He wanted you to feel bad - god, he knew it was fucking twisted, knew it was wrong what he was saying. But as his hardness met your core, already hot even through the sweats, he couldn't help but groan, hand squeezing your throat tighter. Head dropping down to your collarbone like he couldn't bear looking at you, "All I can think about is you" His voice sounded strained, Mancunian accent turning even thicker as his lips brushed against your neck. "Y-yeah?" You muttered, the tension of his hand wrapped around your neck causing your voice to strain in a way that made his dick jump in his pants. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Yeah"

One word. Breathed against your neck. Before he was flipping you. Thick hands tugged your pants down, spreading your ass crudely with one hand as the other slipped around your neck to hold your head up. "N-noel- what?" You tried to stammer out. But secretly, you could hardly believe your luck, months spent pushing him, teasing him in a way that wasn't obvious. But was clear enough to get him to break. "Shh- shush pet" He muttered, holding your head back so it strained, his forehead knocking down against the crown of your head. "I know darlin'" He breathed softly, trying to calm himself, forehead creasing as his brows furrowed, trying to stop himself form completely losing it. "I know" He sighed once more, hand spreading your ass now kneading into the plush flesh, swallowing, "D'ya want this?" He muttered, fingers brushing almost so close to your already throbbing wetness, stopping themself just close enough to hear it, "Tell me- g'on, use your words".

He felt your head try to raise even more, the room now thick with an almost palpable tension. He let up his grip on your chin, hands now slowly making their way to either side of your head, clenching them into the thick couch cushions as he swallowed. And he almost fully lost his breath at your expression. The slight lazy smirk you wore, the glint in your eyes despite the compromising position as you turned to look up into his. You bit your lip. Your eyes darted up and down his frame, eyes glinting with a kind of desperation he hadn't seen since his flings in the 90s.

"I say..." You whisper, leaning up even more so your bare ass brushed against his dick. You smiled even more as his steely blue eyes fluttered shut, jaw ticking with the obvious effort it took for him to just slam your head back down into the couch. You blinked, just once dragging out the obvious tension in the room, "I say... you've wanted this longer than you wanted to let on"

"Yeah" His voice was shaky, swallowing so thickly it almost caught in his throat, hand moving back to your ass, slipping around to tug you up so your knees rested on the couch, basically on all fours. And you let him. You wanted - no, you needed this. Just as much as him, clearly. "Your wife won't have ever made you feel as good as I can"

He let himself laugh at that, admittedly - his cheeks heated up slightly as he dropped his head between your shoulder blades, hands now sliding up from your ass to press you back down onto your front. He chuckled lazily, hands sliding down your torso in a way which raised goosebumps across the slightly exposed skin from where your shirt had rolled up, "Nasty fuckin' thing" He muttered, shuffling down the couch. Resting himself on his stomach, "Pretty" Is all he muttered as his thumbs pulled your plush cheeks apart, hot breath fanning across your already dripping centre, "Can tell you've wanted this" His voice was rough, harsh in a way that told he didn't feel like soft, but wanted to, just for now. Until he worked himself up to it.

His tongue made contact with your core. A sharp gasp escaping your lips as warm hands tugged you closer to his head, nose nudging against your entrance as his tongue snaked down to your clit. "God, you taste so fucking good pet" He muttered, hands gripping your thighs so tight they might leave bruises. He could hardly believe himself, just 20 minutes ago he was fretting about how his life was completely falling apart, now he was tasting your sweetness on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut as he let himself immerse himself in you.

Decidedly, however, he couldn't stay calm for long. The soft skin of your thighs, the primal scent of you, the taste of your wetness set something completely different off in him, hands gripping your thighs pushing you up further, causing your back to arch crudely. "N-noel..." You whimpered into the couch, trying to turn to look at him. But one hand pushed your head back into the couch, overcome with the feel of your wetness dripping onto his tongue as he pushed it further into your core, revelling in the sound of your wetness. And you laughed. You fucking laughed - a sound that made his eyes snap open, pulling back from you - not even bothering to wipe the dripping slick on his slightly stubbled chin, "G'on" He muttered hoarsely, hand trailing up the back of your thigh to push two fingers into your core, a sharp huff of laughter blowing from his nose at the way your laughter stopped, "Said you gotta talk to me baby, need to hear ya"

You huffed in embarrassment as two thick fingers scissored you open, voice coming out all shaky as you pushed yourself up, "You gone senile, old man?" You teased. Noel's eyes narrowed, fingers pushing further into your cunt, pressing down hard against your g-spot to elicit a crude little whimper from you, "Fucks that means to mean?"

You grinned, pressing your lips together to prevent the hopeless whimpers from tumbling from your lips, pushing your hips back into his hand. Fucking yourself on his fingers. Noel felt like he was going absolutely insane.

"Means I think you can go harder"

"No wonder your wife wanted to leave, can't have been giving her dick good enough"

"You fucking little-" Noel cut himself off as his jaw clenched, tugging his fingers out of your hole as he grabbed you by the shoulders, picking you up with almost impossible strength to drag you across his lap, splayed in a way that should've embarrassed you but instead made you even wetter in a shameful dance. Neither of you quite knew what this way, but Noel knew he'd heard enough of you being a brat. his hand smoothed across your ass as you lay there helpless in his lap, free hand tugging your head up so he could meet your eyes, "Want you to fuckin' count" he muttered, thumb tugging on your lower lip so he could shove it to the back of your throat, chuckling as you tried not to gag, watching with a little coo as your eyes welled up in tears, "Think you can do that before you go all dumb on me?"

He smiled as you nodded, hardly able to do an anything else in the compromising position as you clenched around nothing. noel felt the tensing of your thighs, eyes sliding from yours to stare down at your plush ass hovering, practically begging for it to mark him up. his smirk turned crueler as his hand brushed against soft skin. Before

SLAP.

His hand made contact, a shark smacking sound echoing around the small studio, the sight a crude contrast to the soft space you'd built for your haunting little sirens songs - at least that's how it felt to Noel. the pull of you was impossible, he could hardly believe he had you here right now, all alone, spread out across his lap. " can't hear you, princess" He muttered, hand slapping against the skin of your ass once more, sending you forward with a slight yelp, voice muffled around his thumb plugging your mouth, "Two- that was two" You tried to sound stronger than you actually were right now, tried to pretend like him exerting his dominance over you wasn't exactly what you wanted for months.

He kept up at that for a while, repeated slaps of his hand against your ass, ruby ring on his pinky finger practically burning the hot flesh as his hand made contact again. And every single time, you were so responsive. So good for him, whimpering out your responses for just how many times he was abusing your poor ass. It was a far cry from the usually bubbly girl who'd greet him in the corridors, feeding perfectly into his sick fantasy of ruining you, ruining you until all you could think about was him.

He let a soft hum sound from the back of his throat, thumb pushing down harder on the back pf your tongue just to test how much you'd gag for him, a smile blooming across his aged features as the little sound slipped from your parted lips, "Good girl" he whispered, hand soothing against the red skin of your ass, tapping cruelly on the flushed skin just to hear you whine, smile deepening even further, "Y'like that, huh?" He whispered, slipping yet another finger into your mouth to tugbyoir mouth to the side, manhandling your face in just the way he wanted. Just to embarrass you further. God, he'd never wanted to ruin somebody like this in his life, "Like me callin' you that?"

His hands made their way to your middle, hearing the way you gasped now that full oxygen potential was returned to you. But that was short lived, of course it was. Your breath was stolen when Noel grabbed your waist, pulling you up so you were sat properly in his lap.

"Take me out then" He muttered, smiling up at the mess you'd already become, shifting yourself on his lap to not feel the sickly-sweet pain of his abuse of your ass, your perfectly applied makeup smudged by his hands and the tears which had sprung in your eyes from them pricking with tears at the stinging sensation of his hand. Yet still, you took it all like a champ, wiping the leftover drool from the corners of your lips as you shifted closer, rolling your bare core against his bulge as you smiled that horrifically sweet grin, "Take what out?" You leant closer to him so your lips brushed against his. You kissed him then, clearly distracting him from whatever he felt like doing as you reached one hand down to his lap, palming at him through his jeans. He let out a rough sigh, hips jerking up into yours to feel the friction of your hand pressing against his dick. But even that was short lived, as you pulled away, free hand swiping away the string of drool connecting you from the soft kiss, "daddy?"

Noel felt like he was going to be sick. An almost guttural groan escaped his lips as he knocked his forehead against yours, "Fuck, can't say shit like that" He whispered. You were brutal, not even five minutes ago you were choking on his fingers, whimpering like some helpless little thing as he used you in the way that he wanted. the shifting dynamics made his head spin, leaving a little nip against your jaw, he muttered, "Gonna let me fuck you now? Waited long enough haven't I?"

He lifted his head, those insanely blue eyes boring into yours as he gripped your jaw, shaking your head as he manhandled you, free Gand coming to the smalll of your back as he pushed you, causing you to lean back on his lap as the other moved from your jaw down to your cunt, calloused thumb brushing against your clit, "Gonna let daddy have you, huh baby?"

He smiled as you nodded. God you were impossible.

And Noel wasted no time.

He pushed you down, forcing you to scramble off his lap and lay splayed on the floor, staring up at him as he stood up, practically towering over you. Fuck.

The sharp clink of his belt rang through the air, he kept his eyes on you the entire time, pinning you where you sat splayed on the floor with just his gaze. Once the belt was undone, however, that was th end of your redundancy.

"Have at it then" He muttered, staring you down as he held his hands out in a crude gesture, "Let me fuck that pretty throat, eh?"

You couldn't help but smile uo at him, an action mirrored by an uncharacteristically soft smile spreading across his face as you knelt, ready to stand up to make your way to situate yourself between his legs. However, as you managed to get one foot up, his eyes stopped you. Narrowing in a way that showed absolute disapproval. You froze where you were, caught by his gaze as he tilted his head. You swallowed, the confidence slowly draining as you sat back on your haunches, a soft, "What?" Escaping your lips. Noel stared at you for just a moment more, shrugging, before taking himself out. Your eyes zeroed in immediately as he let his dick slap crudely against his stomach, hard and flushed as he wrapped his hand around the base. Never taking his eyes off you. "Oh" You said softly, suddenly tamed by the sight of him working his dick in his fist slowly, tense grunts escaping from his lips as he stood in front of the couch, "So pretty" You whispered, finally looking up to meet his eyes. He chuckled at the sight of your face, clearly needy for him. Gagging for it. Cute.

"C'mere then"

It was such a simple phrase, said so softly it almost gave you whiplash from the different ways in which he was speaking to you. The casual dominance in his tone, the way he'd started to slightly fuck up into his fist, never taking his eyes off yours. You tried to stand, but his hand stopped. He was frowning. "Ah, ah ah" He stopped you. You didn't say anything, just watched as he continued, gesturing to the floor with one hand. "Nobody said you could stand, pet"

You let out a quiet whimper. Fuck. Was he really going to make you crawl to him? Surely not even Noel Gallagher could stoop that low.

Clearly, he could however. He stood there, unmoving, hand now wrapped around his dick again as he pumped it so lewdly. He smiled softly at your face, tilting his head to the side like he expected something, free hand beckoning you towards him.

And so, with a laboured sigh, and a smile which served to convey fake confidence. You obeyed. Crawling towards him on your hands and knees, slow to give the impression of something sultry. Noel let out a shaky sigh at the sight, his own eyes fluttering shut like he couldn't bear ti even watch as his hand tightened around his dick, pumping it even harder at the crude sight.

Following the embarrassment, you eventually made your way over to him, resting your hands on the side of his knees, hands clenching in the thick denim of his jeans, resting your cheek against his knee as you waited for his instruction. Noel let his eyes flutter open, ticking his jaw once as he let his eyes meet yours one more time, smiling softly down at you.

"Hi" You muttered, catching your lip between your front teeth as you stared up at him. He chuckled at that, releasing his dick as he let his hand reach down to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against the height of your cheekbone. Just like you had done before, that felt so long ago, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his thumb. And then-

SLAP.

Another sharp tap, this time against your cheek, Noel chuckled above you, catching your chin where your face had turned away from the force of his hit, "Where are you going, eh?" He said, tone so mocking it was downright sinful, gripping your chin harder, bending at the waist so he was fully making eye contact with you, "Gonna suck me off now, pet? Gonna show me what you can really do?"

But all you could do was nod, sitting up dutifully on your haunches as you waited for him. Watching him. He looked like he didn't even want to continue, just for a moment, a flash of doubt casting over your face. In that brief, apparent lapse in his judgement, he bent further at the waist. His lips sealing your in a kiss almost too soft for the situation, lips lingering warm on yours for a moment. Before he pulled back. "Be a good girl, then" He muttered.

And he wasted no time.

He guided his dick to your lips, watching as you dutifully opened your mouth wide, eyes flickering to watch as he slowly pushed it in, the veins, warm on either side of his shaft, throbbed just once at the feeling of your mouth. So warm. So wet. Sara hadn't given him head in years, called him 'boring'. Said it wasn't exciting enough. Yet here you were, this pretty young thing with her lips wrapping eagerly around the tip of his dick. Noel almost couldn't believe his eyes, hand coming tp stroke your hair after he finished easing the tip into your mouth, calming you. Controlling you. "That's it sweetheart, you okay?" He muttered, warm Mancunian accent wrapping around the words in a way that was simple. All you could do was nod, furrowing your brows as you focused yourself pn taking more of him, looking uo into his eyes for some form of approval.

And Noel already looked completely wrecked. His brown hair, now flecked with salt and pepper, completely messy, face slightly flushed as he stared down at you like this was everything he ever wanted. And that was true, since the moment he'd set eyes on you, this was the moment he'd been dreaming of. So, he took control of it.

The first roll of his hips against your mouth was slow, almost sinful in its pace, as if he was testing the waters. A sharp sigh left Noel's lips at the feeling of your tongue swirling around him as he pulled back slightly, just to push his dick back into your mouth, watching almost hypnotised as you took him so well, thumb coming to collect the drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. He smirked, a sharp laugh escaping his lips, a sound entwined with a half moan as he looked down at you, tapping the corner of your mouth, "Big stretch now, love" He muttered.

And then he shoved his thumb in alongside his dick.

And from then on, Noel Gallagher was unstoppable.

With one sharp movement, he thrust his dick into the back of your throat, laughing as he hooked his thumb around your lips, pulling them wide open to see the way his dick hit the soft spot at the back of your throat. Both hands then curled around your face, tugging with his fingers wrapped around our jaw to pull you back. "Old bones, eh baby?" He chuckled, slightly breathless as he sat himself down against the couch. You adjusted, barely, as you fell forward against him, arms scrambling so your hands could find purchase on his thighs, his hands gripping your face, the thumb still tucked in your mouth alongside his cock. And then, the cruel way in which his hips immediately started up an unforgiving onslaught, fucking up into your mouth with reckless abandon.

Noel stayed quiet for a moment. Just enough so that he could hear the lewd squelching of his cock pistoning in and out of your mouth, "fucking pathetic" he muttered as you began to whimper around each gag, tears that had been pricking at your waterline now beginning to shed fully at the force of his dick hitting the back of your throat. You couldn't even think, couldn't even speak, just rendered to a hole for him to use as he pleased. Months had led up to this pointe very teasing glance in the corridors, every time he fucked his wife pretending it was you. All of that tension leading up to now - Noel Gallagher laying back against the couch in your studio like he owned it, like he was the king, just using you however he wanted.

"Know you wanted this bad" He all but growled as he gripped your face harder, fucking your skull at such a pace it made you dizzy, a moan which sounded like a half whine slipping from his lips as he lifted his hips once more, fucking into your face, "Sitting in here all pretty, knowing i'm just next door"

You've never heard him sound so frustrated, never knew he could even sound like this. Everything was going too fast yet all too slow at the same time unable yo do anything except let him continue his verbal onslaught, his balls hitting heavy against your chin with each thrust of his hips, his dick throbbing almost wildly as he continued, "Y'were mine since the first secon-" he cut himself off with a guttural moan, gripping your face harder as he continued to slap his hips into your face, "Even though you knew I had a missus - I heard fucking everything you little devil, all those pathetic little lads you brought back" He chuckled slightly, catching himself with another breathy little moan as yo let out a desperate whine, trying to do anything which would bring him closer to the edge, too give you exactly what you wanted, "Bet they didn't fuck you like this"

Noel was quickly loosing it, letting out a loud, guttural "Fuck" As he pulled his hips back fully, grabbing you by the forearms, not even giving you time to adjust before he'd dragged you onto the couch with him, moving impossibly fast as he adjusted himself behind you. And then he slammed his hips into yours. He laughed at your bewildered expression, one hand pushing your head down into the cushions once again, the other catching both your hands to pin them behind your back as he immediately started thrusting into you without warning, "Aww, s'it too big for you baby?"

The hand pushing your head down gripped your hair, tugging, harsh. You whined at the force of it, the pain, the pace, how quickly he was moving and forcing you into all these new positions making you dizzy. But not too dizzy to bite back.

"F- Can't fucking feel it"

The hand in your hair tightened. You could practically feel the way his jaw clenched he ragged your head up, leaning his big body over yours to mutter, "Fuckin' bitch"

He slammed your head back down into the cushions, holding you there. His hips seemed to speed up, if that was even possible anymore, now long, sharp thrusts designed to completely incapacitate you, holding you down so he could fuck you how he pleased. "Where's my nice girl gone then?" He spat from above you, hiking your hips up so he could hit even deeper inside of you, every pass of his hips hitting against that spongey spot inside of you. It was almost too much at this point, held down by the absolute force of him, each drive of his hips pushing you even further into the couch, "N-Noel" That's all you could say.

And he was having none of it.

"Shh-shh, pet" he muttered, hips slowing slightly again, "Y'gonna beg?" He asked, too sweet for the way his hips began to speed up once again, "Gotta say it right next time". His hand reaches round again to grab your jaw, turning your head so its strained so you can meet his eyes, watching with bleary gaze as he nods down at you, "What do you have to say to m then?"

"Th-thankyou, daddy" He grinned at that, letting out a soft little coo as he leaned down to press his lips against yours, hips speeding up even more so, lewd slapping sounds resounding around the small studio space, hand gripping your hip to tilt it so he can dig even deeper within your warmth, "There she is" he mutters against your mouth, "Y'gonna cum baby?"

All you can do now is nod, pathetic, unstoppable whimpers drooling from your lips as you try your hardest to keep them locked to his, "What's that sweetheart?" He groans against your mouth.

"Y-yed daddy"

That's all it takes, Noel locks his mouth to yours once again, hand leaving your hips to reach around to circle your clit in a rapid frenzy, "G'na come inside, okay darlin'?" He asks, mouth hot on yours as his dick throbs hard inside of you, signifying he's close to, "We'lll do it together, okay?" He smiles as you nods, speaking for you, "Think y'mean 'yes daddy'"

And that, combined with the harsh grip on your chin, and the sharp snap of his hips into yours finally pushes you over the edge, hips shaking as your walls squeeze around him, wetness dripping down onto the couch. He groans at the feeling of you soaking both his dick and his hand, pressing harshly with two fingers against your clit as he finally spills himself inside of you with a moan that sounds all too much like his own desperate whimper, pushing his lips even harder against yours as he squeezes his eyes shut, "Fuh-fuck, soaking me- fuckin' soaking me darlin'" He moans against your mouth, looking down to see where you're joined, "Feel that? Feel me fucking your belly full of my cum?"

You hardly even have a second to register as he's already flipping you around, hands sliding down your torso as he pull out with a harsh huff of a sigh. Already sliding further down the couch so he can rest facing your core.

And as he begins to clean you up with his tongue. your hands dazily making their way ti grip at his shaggy hair, you can hardly focus on it. There's a quiet buzzing behind you. Somewhere in the daze you find it in yourself to reach back with one hand, finding the source of the noise.

A little black rectangle.

You bring it to your face, a smile crossing your lips as you register the buzzing. Text messages.

Contact - Sara: Hi Noel, I know you ended things, but I can't stop thinking about us

Contact - Sara: If you're not busy, I'd like to talk?

You don't know when, but somewhere along the way you'd learned his password. Through a brief whimper as his soft tongue brushed against your overstimulated clit, you were able to unlock the phone.

Noel: he's busy xx

And unbeknownst to Noel, his ex wife has just received a very shaky, blurry, but unmistakeable picture. Her ex husband between the thighs of the woman she'd been told countless times during the later years of their relationship to never worry about

tag list: @blogbustersii @anjalfc @gxnyadavid @simoneeyy @soerikacanwait @number1princessdianafan @bugbugboy @veruschkaaaa @oasisyearner @beherenowl @lipglossandcigarettes6 @dykwimean @oasisswag @strwbryluver @sonnyangel11 @invinsabel @alicehighflyingbirds @damonalboner @ddirtyshirtt @hernamewasavaline @gallagherish99 @zo-05 @galicantwait @thebestmole @charmlessgrrl @noelsgreystreak @thebestmole @wtsthstrymrnglry