Imma_devil

“Dating outside of tennis is a better idea, I’m telling you,” Patrick said as the boys walked down the Stanford sports building halls. The plan was to go play a few indoor games on the court, but the boys being boys, stopped at the cafeteria first, and both of them, eyes bigger than their stomachs, had too many hot dogs and no longer felt much like practicing. Patrick snatched a sheet off of one of the corkboards on the wall. “Girl’s sports.” 

“What am I doing with this?” Art chuckled, taking the list from Patrick.

“What are we doing with this? Finding a sport, going to watch. Something to do. Pick something that isn’t tennis, you know. See some girls doing their thing.” 

Art chuckled, “You don’t think that’s a little weird?” 

“Nah, games are meant to be watched, I’m sure there’s something good going on.” Patrick shrugged, trying to snatch the list back, but Art extended his arm so Patrick couldn’t reach it, grinning. “You pick then.” 

“Pickleball.” Art debated. 

“Too close to tennis, come on. Pick something hotter.” 

“Hotter? Thought you’d like the pickleball skirts.” 

“I do, but they’re just tennis skirts. Give me the list-” he took it from Art’s hand. “Rugby…Could be good, contact, girls on girls…” Art did a half-nod, thinking about it, but then he shook his head no. “Volleyball.” 

“I still have flashbacks from intramurals,” Art said. “Go down to the less popular stuff.” 

“Good idea…” Patrick’s finger trailed down the list. “Fuck yeah. Gymnastics?” 

“Done,” Art agreed. The boys shared the same stupid look on their faces as they looked at which gym the girls gymnastics in and they jogged over like eager little boys whose parents tell them they can get whatever they want from the candy shop. “What are we expecting from this? They don’t have games.” 

“Competition?” Patrick shrugged, pushing the door open. 

The boys spoke in unison, to their dismay, “Practice.” And they could have turned around, and walked out pretending like they just went to the wrong place, but Patrick took a few more steps in and there was no turning back after that, unfortunately.  Art groaned a little, following through, up a few stairs and past where a few other people were hanging out watching the practice. Not too far, but far enough that they could observe all the Stanford gymnasts. The boys took their seats and set their bags down. Patrick kicked his feet up. Art just leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. 

“This was the best decision,” Patrick said a little absentmindedly as he focused in on each girl. “Holy fuck.” 

“Uh huh,” Art agreed again, his gaze falling on all the girls on the mats and the beams, stretching, limbering up, doing their little cartwheels and flips

“It’s impressive,” Patrick added.

“So impressive. They’re very talented young women.” Art returned. Both of them did not let their eyes wander anywhere else. Girls doing all sorts of acrobatic bends and twists and tricks, it was mesmerizing. With the three brain cells shared between them when hot women were present, it was only a few minutes before their interests collided in specifics. On one particular girl. You. 

You had your leg up above your head on the wall, stretching. You were in dark pink shorts and a black tank top, talking to your friends. Your leg was so high up over your head, that both boys were thinking the same thing. “Holyyy fuck,” Patrick said under his breath. “She’s…” 

“Flexible.” 

“Hot.” 

Neither of them took their eyes off of you. You were laughing, engaging in conversation, your leg up on the wall like it was nothing. You shook your hair out of your bun to fix it up a little and the boys were practically drooling. Their eyes lingered on the way your body moved when you took your leg down, bending in odd ways that they both never thought they’d find hot. You spun like a dancer and you were light on your feet and you were probably the most gorgeous woman they’d ever seen. Deja vu, both boys were hard watching you bend and stretch and flip and twirl. You were flawless in every way… 

You saw them in your peripheral, lowering your voice and looking to your friend Tess. “Do we know them?” You asked her, a small smile on your face. “The two boys in the stands, I feel like they’re watching me, are they?” 

Tess pretended to yawn, glancing their way. “Staring. They’re staring.” 

“Are they cute?” 

Tess grinned a little, pretending to twist her back, looking back at them and then you, “They are. Oh my god.” 

“Really?” You giggled just a little. “Oh my god. And it’s me?” 

She giggled back, grabbing your hands for a second. “Here, wait, move over there,” she instructed. You did a cartwheel and back handspring and Tess watched their eyes follow you. She nodded and you both started laughing. “I have no idea who they are. The way they’re watching you, I don’t think they belong to any of these girls.” 

“I love that.” 

“As you should, as you should. If they end up talking to you, send one my way, mhm?” 

“Of course,” you replied, scrunching your nose. It could have been weird. Two strangers watching the girls practice, but their focus was on you. And you weren’t too concerned by it. You thought of it as some form of flattery. It was a good thing you couldn’t see their faces, watching you, entirely hypnotized, their dicks fighting the fabric of their jeans over the way you bent and twisted and twirled. You asked around a little to see if any of the girls knew them and the answers were all no. They truly didn’t belong to anyone. You did sneak a glimpse or two. They were both really cute. You returned to Tess as practice was closing, “They aren’t anyone’s boyfriend. Think I should say hi?” 

“The way they were looking at you? The way they still are? Please say more than ‘hi’.”

“I just might,” you said, pulling a mischievous little face. You said goodbye to the girls and as they all funneled out, you continued to do your exercises. Leg up, leg down, backbend, and flipping over from the backbend onto your feet. You stayed just an extra minute so that when you did start to get your things together, they were well aware of the lack of extra persons in the room. You grabbed your water bottle, looking up at the boys for the first time, dead on. “Hi.” 

Both boys had to snap themselves out of a trance when you called up to them. It was real, you were real, you said hi. You. Both of them didn’t have a word to say for a moment. Art stood up, “Hey.” He said, a little enthusiastically. Had you caught them off-guard? You smiled, walking up the steps. 

Patrick stayed seated, taking his legs off the back of the seat in front of him. “Hi.” He nodded your way. 

“Aspiring gymnasts?” You teased, sitting opposite them on the chair in front of them. Patrick pressed his tongue to his cheek, looking down at his knees. Art sank back into his seat. They’d been caught. “I mean, it’s not every day we get two random guys in here and they aren’t anyone’s boyfriend.” You smiled a gorgeous smile that almost made them both hard again. You were so much prettier up close. It happened you were thinking the same thing. “Y/N.” You introduced yourself. 

“Patrick,” he said. 

“Art,” Art introduced himself in return. You grinned wider. “You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone do so many flips in a row.” He gushed. You noted him fidgeting with his hands. It was cute. 

“It was impressive,” Patrick added on. 

“So you hung around because I do flips and it’s impressive. I am flattered, extremely. So when do I get to sit and watch you two do impressive flips?” Art and Patrick both chuckled. You looked down at the bags by their seats, recognizing their racket bags. You laughed a little, “Or play tennis. You’re tennis guys.” 

“Might be,” Patrick replied. 

“We are.” Art admit. 

Your eyes widened, “Oh my god, I’ve seen you guys play! You’re the fire and water guys, I didn’t even realize.” You pointed at them and they smiled to each other. Patrick mouthed ‘water’ at his best friend, grinning. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea I was in the presence of such a talented duo.” 

Art leaned forward just a bit, flattered you knew who they were. Sort of. “You like tennis?” 

“When we’re bored, me and my best friend Tess go watch the men’s tennis to hear the noises they make when they hit the ball.” You nodded, “The only time men can grunt and moan out loud and women can enjoy it publicly.” 

Patrick chuckled a little breathily. You were perfect. Art shifted the way he was sitting, laughing to himself as well. It was hard to talk to you, they both found. You were almost too gorgeous to look at. “Haven’t heard that one.” Art said a little sheepishly. He turned to Patrick, “Do we-” 

“You do,” Patrick nodded. “Loud.” 

“Mhm, I think I can remember.” You grinned. 

“No.” Art grinned, bashful. Patrick laughed. 

“You too, though.” You cut into his laugh and Patrick leaned forward to defend himself, but he just ended up laughing with you and Art. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, with all the impact, tennis can be very sensual.

“Gymnastics isn’t?” Patrick said, looking you in the eyes. 

You narrowed your eyes with a smirk that sent shockwaves through both of their nervous systems. “I never said it wasn’t. It’s why you were watching, after all?” 

Both boys were moving to adjust themselves at this point. You just kept that smile on your face. Art pressed his cheek to his closed fist, trying not to smile too wide. “Are you free right now?” 

Patrick looked over at Art, then at you again. You tilted your head, “I think so.”

“You smoke weed?” Patrick asked. 

“Are you a cop?”

“So yes,” Patrick smiled. 

You chuckled, looking over at Art whose nose was a little pink. “Yes. Do we need that though or are you asking me to hang out?” 

“Asking you to hang out,” Art said. He twisted his ring around his finger. “If you’re up for it.” 

You twisted your mouth to the side, “How is later? So I can shower ‘n get pretty?” 

“Later is good,” Art nodded. Both boys straightened out at your immediate yes. Almost like they weren’t hearing you right. You were gorgeous and perfect and you said yes. To them. Without weed involved. “Where?” 

You stood up, moving back over to the stairs. “Where’s your dorm?” You were inviting yourself over and both of them were in awe, much too excited. Art didn’t mind, just meant he had to run back to his dorm and get rid of all of Patrick’s chip bags. “If you don’t mind. If not, we can just meet out-”

“His dorm is fine,” Patrick chimed in, small chuckle. “310, red building. See you when?” 

“Nine.” You nodded. “That’s okay with you, Art?” 

His name in your voice sounded angelic. “Yeah- yes, it’s okay with me. We’ll see you at nine.” 

You smirked once more, laying a finger aside your nose. “Bye.” 

Both boys said goodbye to you in return, watching you turn and go down the steps, grab your things, and leave. They both had their hands tight around the arm rests of their seats in just a little bit of shock and disbelief. You were hot. You were really hot and you were perfect and funny and dirty… And they would be seeing you later. In Art’s dorm room. 

“That was real,” Art breathed out. “Holy fuck.”  

“Gymnastics was the way to go.” 

Around eight-thirty the boys had just finished shoving all the laundry into the little cabinet in the corner. There were no more chip bags or empty cans laying around. The place looked decent. They even made the bed and cleared off the desk in the corner. Art sprayed his cologne on the doorframe and into the air of the room. Patrick finished tidying up the bathroom. Done with their cleanup, Art sat on the floor next to his bed and Patrick sat in the desk chair. 

“I can’t stop thinking about her leg over her head. Fuck, imagine how good it must feel to fuck her like that.” Patrick said, staring at the wall, dazed. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Just her…”

The boys stayed almost wordless, having their own individual fantasies. Until you knocked on the door. Art and Patrick were comfortable, so it made sense you would be too. Art and Patrick rushed to open the door to face you, your hair down, a different, thicker-strapped black tank top that was cut to just above the edge of your loose shorts. You had a sweater on, but it was slipped off of both of your shoulders, the fabric bunched up at your elbows. Both boys had their breath sucked away from them, like someone pressed all the air from their chest. A smile creeped up your lips. “Am I late? Early?” 

“Hi.” Art said, just a little late. “No, you’re fine, come in.” 

“Hey,” Patrick greeted you. You smiled his way, scrunching your nose just a bit, sitting at the head of Art’s bed. Both boys climbed onto the other end of the bed, Art with his legs crossed and Patrick with one leg up, one leg off the bed. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, I’m good, you?” You returned. Art leaned into his palm, looking at Patrick. 

“I’m great.” He nodded. “So, this is you showered and pretty?” 

“I wouldn’t self-title,” You smirked at his callback. “So what’d you guys do all afternoon? Tennis, video games, endless cleaning and shoving laundry in places laundry doesn’t go?” 

The boys looked at each other, wondering how you knew about that. Art grinned, “The last one, yeah. Mostly. Um… What about you?” He was nervous, you liked that about him. 

You leaned back against his wall, looking around his room. He had various tennis rackets against his wall, a nice computer, a little fridge. It smelled good, too. “Showered, had dinner, got ready and came over here. Not very entertaining.” 

Art looked at you, eyes travelling down your form. You were in his bed, it was hard to believe. “Interesting enough. So… how long have you been in gymnastics?” 

“Since I was five? Or six. But competitive mostly, then acrobatics, then contortion, then dance, and then back to the basics.” 

“Contortion?” Patrick questioned. His tongue pressed the inside of his cheek again. Art nudged Patrick back at the mention. “That’s where you can twist in weird ways, right?” 

“Mhm, most people find it freaky, but it’s fun.” 

“So you’re really good at what you do, then.” Art said. “That’s incredible, most people can’t even do one of those. I can’t even do a handstand.” 

“He can do a cartwheel, though, I think that’s really important,” Patrick said, grabbing Art’s shoulder firmly. “I can’t do either one.” 

You giggled at the thought, “I’d love to see that sometime, you have to show me this cartwheel. You should pull that out in a tennis game, during a rally or something. Oh! Speaking of,  I did find a really interesting video. Doubles, Junior US Open. You guys are really fucking good.” 

Art put his face in his hands, “Forgot that was recorded.” 

Patrick just smirked. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. “Guess we all have our thing.” Art was staring at your thighs, his lip between his teeth, Patrick watching your lips as you spoke. “Have to say, was a quiet game though.” You joked. Both boys were stunned for a moment. You were so… honest. Too honest. It was hot, really fucking hot. 

Patrick grinned, nudging Art gently. Art smiled, “We weren’t loud enough for you?” 

“Hardly.” Patrick and Art laughed quietly at that. You grinned, back at them, giggling to yourself. “Tennis isn’t much fun for me to watch otherwise.” 

“Could say the same about gymnastics,” Patrick rebutted. 

You tilted your head, “Don’t need to be loud in gymnastics. There’s no impact, no big swings. It would be a little strange if I bent over and made a noise. I prefer having a reason to make noise when I’m bent over. A whole other story.” Both boys just blinked, a little taken aback by how blunt you were. But a gorgeous grin spread up Art’s face along with a tint of pink in his cheeks. “Like you mentioned earlier. It's not like gymnastics doesn’t have its suggestive moments. Frankly, all of it is suggestive.” 

Art ran his tongue over his top teeth, listening to you. “Find it helps at all?” 

“With?” 

“Everything,” Patrick answered, a smirk growing on his face. Both boys had to adjust to hide just how hard they were from this conversation, remembering back to your leg over your head just earlier. Their personal fantasies flashing in the front of their minds. “You know.” 

“No, I don’t think I do,” you said, leaning forward just a bit, moving to sit on your knees in front of them. Art and Patrick just laughed to themselves, nervous, caught in your web all too well. Your perfect lower lip between your teeth had the both of them almost drooling. You were so blunt but you played dumb so perfectly… “What do you mean everything?” 

Patrick and Art both couldn’t form the words. Not for a moment. Even less when you chimed in again, “By myself or with someone else?” You asked. They had even fewer words. Their minds were wiped clean by your easy seduction. God, they were so cute and so fun to play with. 

Art’s cheeks were a shade of pink. He was so pretty, you noted, also taking in Patrick’s bashful grin. “Everything,” Patrick restated, his mouth a little open, tongue still pressed to the inside of his cheek. Cocky, almost. 

“It’s handy,” you replied. Art had to shift around again. He was so hard that it hurt. “I’m sure tennis has its pros.” You looked at their hands. “Wouldn’t be the same, but they’re your own.” 

“For sure,” Art agreed. “But gymnastics… I mean you have to be…” 

You scrunched your nose at him, “Flexible.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, fidgeting now with his lower lip. “Flexible. Especially with the contortion thing, that’s crazy, that must be-” 

“I want to know about that one thing that can happen when you stretch a certain way,” Patrick interjected. “Is that true?” 

You giggled, eyes widening. “I forgot about that!” Patrick referred to the stretch-induced orgasm that was fabled, but entirely possible. “It’s real, I’ve heard about it, but personally, no. From gymnastics or even stretching, I’ve never been able to…” 

“Come,” Patrick grinned. You grinned back. 

Art looked at you, “But you’ve done things related to your gymnastics? I mean, the moves you can pull are amazing, they must be… convenient.” 

“I’d say so,” you said, leaning in just a little closer. You pretended like you couldn’t see the boner he was hiding under his wrist. “But Sigmund Freud once wrote about tennis saying that hitting tennis balls without competition was akin to masturbation. And that live competitive games are comparable to sex. I’m not a big fan of Freud, but where do you stand on that?” 

Art’s eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips and the fact he could see the edges of your bra. “Might be comparable, but nothing close to the real thing.”

You nodded just slightly, looking to Patrick for his answer, your gaze something perfect and breathtaking. Art pressed slightly on his boner when you weren’t looking at him, something, anything for a little relief for how hard he was. Patrick locked eyes with you, “I’d ask you if you’ve ever actually played.” 

“I haven’t.” You replied. “Would I find it comparable to sex? If I played against you?” 

Patrick grinned, “Depends on how into the game you are.” 

“I might be really into it, would it feel the same?” 

“In some ways, maybe.” He nodded, looking at Art. Art looked at him, then you. The tension in the room was thick and these boys were growing more aroused by the second. “Doesn’t feel the same physically but it might if you let your mind wander.” 

Art chuckled a little, “It can feel good. Winning. Even losing, sometimes. It’s all emotion, I mean, everything is. And without the tension with your opponent, it’s not really tennis, is it?” 

“No, I guess not,” you paused for a beat, looking at them both. Your sultry gaze, perfect features, perfect body, and perfect lips made them more and more dazed, lost in you. Their only thoughts were how badly they wanted to fuck you. It felt a little perverted to be so attracted to someone for the way they can bend, twist, and move, but there wasn’t any harm in it. “You’re both making me reconsider my sport,” you laughed. “Sounds worth it.” 

“Might be,” Art replied. “It’s nothing compared to the flexibility thing, though.” He chuckled, so fucking nervous, so fucking attracted to you, “I mean, I wish…” He rambled. Patrick wanted to laugh, but he was more focused on how you continued to lean, placing your hands on the bed in front of you. 

“You wish?” You giggled, slowly moving closer. Art felt his face grow even more hot, his dick pulsing. “You wish you were flexible?” You giggled a little more, your lip settling between your teeth. Patrick let a breath slip through his parted lips as you advanced on Art. Both boys had their hearts pounding in their chests and in their dicks. Art swallowed hard. 

He couldn’t say or do anything when you slowly crawled into his lap, sitting on your knees, your hands gently pushing his hair behind his ears. Art swore his heart was going to jump out of his chest and that this wasn’t real, you weren’t on his lap. Patrick repositioned himself, eager, so eager. Art looked at you with eyes wide, clouded with obsession and lust, and god, he wanted you so bad, but he let you look at him for a moment. You could feel him hard underneath you, his hands sliding up your hips and to your waist just bracingly. “I can show you, if you want?” You smiled. Art let out a sigh, he was so whipped. 

There wasn’t much more room for air when you kissed him, pressing your lips to his. His mouth open, kissing you back, a little dazed, but so fucking into it. You felt his grip on your waist increase, pulling you closer. He was so cute and a great kisser. Modest, matching your pace. Shy, almost. So you picked up the pace, grabbed his face harder, kissed him harder, pressed your body against him harder and he groaned through the kiss at all the impact, feeling you flush against his body. 

“Oh fuck…” Patrick mumbled, watching like it like it wasn’t happening in front of him. It was and it was hot. Watching the way Art’s jaw moved, kissing you. His eyes trailing down your thighs, braced on either side of Art’s. The way your body moved so fluidly as you pressed against his best friend. It was a sight easy to get lost in. He watched Art’s hands slide up under your sweater and your hands momentarily left the place on your jaw to remove it. You tossed it on the floor and in doing so, you pulled away just slightly from the kiss. 

Patrick, instinctively, leaned in, kissing you. You met him in the middle, your hands crawling up the back of his neck and into his hair, still straddling Art. Your waist was twisted- if it was anyone else, Art might have worried a little. Patrick’s large hands slid around your back and Art’s hands gripped your thighs gently. You were so perfect, his hands slid up and down the skin of them as you kissed Patrick. He was completely lost in you now. He’d just kissed you and it was perfect and it was real. 

Patrick kissed with passion. It was hot, demanding, needed. You began to pull yourself backward, away from him, but grabbed the front of both of the boy’s shirts, pulling them with you as you kissed Patrick on your back. Art’s body on one side, Patrick’s slightly over yours, but on the other side. He kissed you like he was hungry- like he needed you. Art’s hand traveled the curve of your waist, your hip, back down to your thigh again, fingers dipping into your flesh perfectly. It was with his touch that you pulled away from Patrick and kissed Art again. 

He took it, he wanted it more than anything. Like you were a drug, he kissed you like he was desperate for a high. Kissing him, Patrick moved your hair to the side, beginning to kiss down your neck and collarbone, Art’s shoulder bumping him just a bit, but not too much for it not to feel good. You hummed into Art’s mouth, feeling those warm kisses spread goosebumps down to the thigh Art’s hand was grabbing so perfectly. Your own hand slipped down between your body and Patrick’s, finding the bulge in his shorts and pressing, just slightly with an open palm. Patrick groaned, just slightly. “Fuck,” he mumbled against your neck. 

You grinned into your kiss with Art. His hands carefully found the bottom of your tank top, pulling it up over your head with the arch of your back to help. It helped neither one of their painful boners to find out you didn’t have on a bra underneath. It must have been built in… Patrick’s gentle kisses slowly strayed down your chest, kissing your breast. Art’s hand grabbed the opposite one, gently squeezing as he kissed you, his hard-on pressed against your hip for friction. The sensation of both was fucking amazing, your fingers curled in Art’s hair and your other hand pressed harder against Patrick’s crotch. Both boys made a satisfying noise of the same genre, lighting a fire between your legs. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet by the second. Poor Tess didn’t stand a chance with one of them when you had both fawning, touching, kissing, and sucking over your body. Patrick took your nipple in his mouth, gently rolling your nipple between his tongue and the tip of his teeth. Your back arched due to the subject of your pleasure and as much as you liked it, you needed something real to feel… now. You broke from the kiss with Art and his lips were immediately down the opposite side of your neck. Both boys kissed over your chest, you were going to grab Patrick when their lips met in the middle. 

Art and Patrick kissed hard. You watched, propping yourself up on one elbow. Patrick’s hand cupped Art’s jaw, tongue diving into his best friend’s mouth. You just grinned watching them get into it, taking matters truly into your own hands, slipping your hand down the waistband of Patrick’s shorts. With his free hand, he pulled his shorts down and you had the freedom to slowly start moving your hand up and down his cock. He groaned into Art’s mouth and you watched contented as they kissed like they were going to devour each other. They moved, sat up just the slightest bit, which gave you perfect access to Art’s leaking dick. You found your way to that too, having both hands working at the same time, eliciting noises from both as they kissed over you. You didn’t mind, how could you mind? 

But it didn’t last forever, you were good with your hands, and both boys didn’t want to finish early. Patrick broke off first, diving back into kissing you, both boys pulling their dicks away to let your hands rest. They went back to their worship of your body, Patrick’s hand on your chest as you kissed messily. Art’s lips trailing down the side of your stomach, carefully out of Patrick’s way, then kissing back up. You were bold, pulling Art’s hand down to where you needed it, over the cloth of your shorts and underwear. He was happy to do whatever he could for you, gently pressing over you. He could feel how wet you were through two layers of fabric… He was immediately on taking them off. He pulled your shorts down to your knees and you kicked them the rest of the way off, busy kissing Patrick passionately. 

Not too busy to feel when Art’s fingers moved your underwear aside, his thumb on your clit. The pressure of his gentle hands in this sort of mix was amplified by how much you were feeling. “Mmm- fuck,” you mumbled into Patrick’s mouth. He grinned. Art kissed your ribs gently, goosebumps once again spreading throughout your entire body once again. His fingers slowly slid over your folds, feeling how wet you were. He wanted Patrick to feel this, he couldn’t not. Art grabbed Patrick’s hand and guided it down. Both boys had their hands on your pussy now. And it was a wordless joint effort to remove your underwear. 

Your chest rose and fell heavily, sharing your air with Patrick, who was still so focused on kissing you, mumbling, “You’re so wet…”  Another wordless agreement between the boys took place and Patrick’s fingers began to rub circles on your clit while Art’s pointer and middle finger slipped into you with ease. Your free hand gripped Art’s curls again, his lips staying on your warm skin. You grabbed whatever you could as pleasure began to overtake your body. Both boys focused so much on making you feel good, Art’s fingers pumping in and out of you and Patrick’s focused on teasing that perfect bundle of nerves. 

You felt euphoric. Their hands doing their work like it was all they knew, like it was what they did best. Their collaboration was getting you there so fast, you could hardly keep up with how fast the waves of pleasure washed in and built up. You were a bit of a moaning mess, never having been so thoroughly fingered with dual attention to detail. Patrick had the perfect pressure and Art had the perfect angle, hitting the places you needed to be touched in so well, so perfectly. “Oh my god,” you managed, “Fuck me…” 

“Yeah?” Patrick grinned. Art smiled against the tit he was currently kissing. His dick was out and hard against the bed he pressed himself into, leaking pre-cum like he never had before. You moaned out and both boys knew they just had to up the pace a little. Patrick, flat-handed, rubbed your clit faster and Art fucked his fingers into you a little harder, and in seconds, he felt you tighten around him. He almost moaned himself feeling it all, hearing you. He knew he had to be inside of you. 

Patrick and Art kissed over you again, letting you rest for a moment, both so fucking aroused and taken by your sounds, by your being. So completely fucked that they needed to share how they were feeling by kissing hard, mouths a little open, tongues meeting in the spaces between. Harsh breaths from their rapid movement not caught because your hands were back on their dicks again. Both of them moaned into each other and it was the hottest fucking sight. You watched as they removed each other’s shirt, Patrick’s hand sliding down to his own cock, letting that hand fall between your legs. You’d be unable to finish for another minute but it didn’t stop you from touching yourself at this perfect show. Art’s hands in Patrick’s curls and Patrick’s hand jerking himself off fast and hard at all of this. 

Art is trying his best not to finish at your hand. He wants to be inside of you more than fucking anything so when you use your leg to pull him in, away from Patrick, he doesn’t stop it. He crawls over you, kissing up your neck, up to your ear, over your jaw and cheek and he kisses you on the mouth, lips warmed from Patrick’s kiss. You can hear Patrick still jerking himself off, groaning quietly. You heard the pace pick up as Art slowly lifted your leg, farther and farther back until it was above your head. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. You just grinned and it was honestly a little evil. You were in a position equal to the splits and it made you tight as he slowly pushed into you. You moaned into the room as Art filled you. He filled you so well and in this position, you could feel everything. 

Patrick was groaning quietly still as he continued to jerk himself off to the sight. You were flexible and it did come in handy, “Oh my god, you feel so good, so… perfect.” Art mumbled, thrusting into you. “So perfect.” 

“So flexible, fuck, I told you it’d feel good,” Patrick managed through his own pleasure. You smiled at that. They talked about fucking you, that was good to know. You watched Art’s pretty face as he focused on fucking you, the perfect pace, the perfect amount, the perfect angle. You breathlessly watched his pretty eyelashes as he looked down at where you connected, his perfect hand gripping your thigh above your head so hard. His lips just a little parted, breathing hard, so pretty. So fucking pretty, 

“Harder,” you told him, using a free hand to tilt his chin up so he had to look at you. His eyes were gorgeous, all clouded up with lust and need and desperation and he fucked you harder. It was easy, it was cut and dry thrusting and it felt like you might die and go to heaven, the sensations rippling through your body. “Oh my god, it’s so good, it’s so good.” You moaned. You reached over for Patrick, excusing his hand and taking his dick back in your own hand. He didn’t stop you, letting you take over the best you could. It was more than enough, watching Art fuck you so hard, the room filled with moans and the sound of skin on skin. You could hardly breathe with the work done on you and the work you were doing, but it was perfect. You felt Art slow just a little. “You’re close?” 

“Ye-mmmphhh, uh-huh,” he answered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You can come in me, baby,” you assured him, free hand cupping his cheek. It was hard to talk over how much you were feeling and doing. Your words, the theory of it all seemed to give him the momentum to fuck you harder, slamming into you until it got sloppy and he came undone, spilling into you. God, you were fucking perfect, Patrick thought. They’d just met you and you were thoroughly fucked already. Not fucked enough, though. Art pulled out and was met by Patrick’s hand on his oversensitive dick. He made a noise close to a whimper and there was a beat before his lips crashed back onto Patrick’s. His dick was still hard and completely coated in his own cum. You watched them kiss, your hand unable to follow Patrick’s body when it was so close to Art’s. Semen across Patrick’s lower stomach from how close they were when they kissed, up on their knees. You lowered your leg, feeling Art’s load in you seep out and onto the bed as you did. 

Art leaned Patrick back onto the bed, Patrick’s hand working Art’s cock gently as they went. Your lips met Patrick’s shoulder, kissing over his bicep as the boys continued kissing. They couldn’t fuck, you knew that, they didn’t see this coming. You didn’t think they’d be so into each other, but you did not give that much of a fuck. They were best friends, it was bound to happen. 

Art moved off of Patrick for you, letting you climb over him, still dripping from Art, but it was a half-second before you were sitting on Patrick’s cock. He had slipped in so easily with you all soaked. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Art leaned against the wall, still breathing hard from everything, just watching as you rolled your hips, starting to fuck him. Your core strength was up to bat with how fast you rolled your hips, your waist following. Fuck, you were so gorgeous… Was a good thing he’d stayed at your practice or he wouldn’t be about to finish a second time somehow untouched, just watching you and Patrick fuck. He never thought he’d be so into any of this, but you were taking over every thought in his brain…

Patrick groaned, “Fuck, you’re so tight… so wet, so perfect, fuck.” His moans came like breaths, heavy sighs. “Can’t compare this shit to tennis, hm-”

“I’ve yet to play,” you grinned, beginning to bounce on his cock. Patrick grabbed whatever he could, your ass, your waist, everything. Art’s mouth stayed just a little open. “Oh god-” Patrick’s dick curved perfectly into you. You’d ride him into tomorrow if he let you- and he would. You wouldn’t expect it from the one who came off more dominant, the way he seemed to melt as you fucked him into the mattress. Art was more than contented watching. Even more contented when you slipped your own hand down your front, middle finger working your clit. Both boys watched as your head tilted back. You were the most gorgeous person on the fucking planet at this very moment. A little sweaty, but so fucking gorgeous. “Oh my god, I’m gonna-” you moaned out. Art’s dick still, painfully, stood at attention. It couldn’t get enough of all of this. Patrick dug his finger into your ass so hard you were sure you’d have fingerprints as he, without warning, finished inside of you as well. You followed suit just a few seconds later, slowing your bouncing to a dull rock. Both of you with chests heaving came to a stop and you let him pull out, the semen gushing from you, leaking a little down your leg. 

You lay between the boys, naked, breathing hard, lips pink from all the kissing and both boys gladly took their break next to you, trying to sort out how all of what just happened was real. And it was possibly the best sex they’d ever had. You were just as into it as they were. You laid there for a while before inevitably getting up to use the bathroom and Art’s shower. 

Art and Patrick washed themselves off as well and put their shorts back on. “Fuck,” Patrick breathed, still in a state of disbelief. Completely stunned, their fantasies lived out. “Unreal.” 

“She’s real, she’s in my bathroom,” Art replied, dazed. “And she’s really flexible.” 

“Uh-huh,” Patrick nodded. They were interrupted, sitting up when you came out of the bathroom in your clothes again. You crawled into Art’s bed again, laying between them once more. You kissed both of them gently, nicely, and you rested your head down on the new bedsheets Art had changed them to when you were in the bathroom. Both boys, a little confused, both didn’t mind putting an arm around you. 

"Loud enough?"

The shirt flutters to the ground, forgotten, as your hands explore to freshly exposed skin. Steve sighs sweetly as you trace softly across his tummy, nails dragging lightly as your near his thighs. His cock is already perking up. It’s been interested since earlier, you in his lap and your tongue in his mouth, and it doesn’t take many more lingering touches for it to reach proper attention. 

“No one ever taken care of you before, baby?” You ask, lips scraping his ear. Your breath is warm and your voice is low— but the kiss you give beneath his ear is hot and wet. You suckle at the skin, not even a nip of teeth. Desire pools low in Steve’s gut, a simmering heat. 

One of your hands moves over his boxers and gives his bulge a gentle rub, making Steve rumble out a soft moan. Your other hand rubs soothing down his thigh. 

Steve shakes his head to answer no to your question. His eyes fight to stay open, torn between wanting to watching your wandering hands or turning to kiss you but your persistent kisses on his neck give him little choice. He shifts his hips. 

“Not- not like this,” Steve admits, breath a little short already. His tummy tenses when your hand drags back up over it, just a soft scratch of nails. His cock aches harder. He wishes you would touch it, wishes you would reach your hand in, all hot, soft and wet and tug it in that perfectly teasing way he knows you can. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hips shifting upward again. You smile at his impatience. 

“Can we take these off?” You ask, pinching the ruffled elastic of his boxers. Steve nods fervently, hips shifting up to let you slide them down so he can kick them off. His chest feels warm, flushed beneath the hair and another groan tumbles out when you finally curl your fingers around his cock. “Fuck,” he pants as you pump tantalizing slow. “Fuck, feels so good, honey,” 

A hunger for the feeling grows in his stomach, gnawing for more bliss. Steve lets his head tips back, resting against your shoulder and you take advantage of it in an instant; kisses upon kisses up his neck. It’s messy, lips wet with spit as you scrape your teeth down, right as your rub over the slit of his cock— Steve twitches, a jagged whine pushing past his lips. He pants a little heavier. 

Pausing for a moment, you pull your hand back to your mouth and let yourself drool over it— sticky saliva covering your fingers. This time, when you grip his cock, Steve gasps loudly. Slick, hot, sounds reverberate in the room as you jerk him, hand twisting perfectly. Still slow, still gentle. 

Your mouth find his earlobe, teeth nibbling a little mean, your hand not stopping— and Steve moans a little louder, like he can’t help it. His cock gives a little dribble of precum, tummy all tensed up again. 

“See? S’nice to be taken care of,” You murmur softly. You thumb his slit again, delighting in the spurt his cock gives, then dive down to cup his balls. Your other hand strokes along his thigh lovingly, nails drawing lines as you rake them back up to his v-line. 

Steve shivers, shuddering sweet whines escaping him. He’s so unbearably hard for you- especially as you rub his balls so perfectly, your hand dragging back up his cock and then back down, a mind-melting cycle. It’s so much, it’s not even close to enough, it’s, it’s— 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers loudly. His eyes have finally crushed closed, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly beside you. His gut is burning with heat, pleasure filling every limb. It feels good. He wants to writhe against you, wants to fuck your fist, wants you to keep teasing him just like you’re doing. 

“Oh god, oh fuck- f-fuck,” His words are getting more pathetic by the minute, barely fully formed, drenched in a whimpering tone. “Please, don’t… don’t tease, no- ah,” 

It’s not even teasing, you just aren’t rubbing him hot and fast like usual. Your movements are slow, doused in adoration — your core feels sticky, burning hot from watching Steve get all worked up in your arms. 

“M’not teasing you,” you say, fondling his balls and rubbing your palm against them in a circular motion, building his lust. Steve’s tense body and punched out breathes contradict your words. He’s so whiny. It’s a pity no one’s ever taken care of him before — though your stomach pinches hotly to know only you get to see him this way. 

“Just taking care of you,” you sigh, grip tightening as you pull it back up his cock, giving the smallest jerk. Steve warbles out a throaty whimper, egged on by your roaming touch along his thighs. He feels molten hot, tummy already all clenched up, his cock just leaking all over your hand. Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body, back starting to arch up. 

“Hone- aw, fuckfuckfuck, yes, just there, please, honey,” he pleads, voice starting to sound wrecked and feeble. God, he sounds pathetic; he only sounds like this when he's been fucking you for a good while. But a few minutes of the right touch? Reduces to a whiny mess in your hands. 

“So pretty,” you whisper and Steve can’t tell if you mean him or his dribbling cock, all pink and twitching in your hand. He can’t even feel the fabric gripped between his own fingers— can’t feel anything except your palm right around the head of his cock, teasing it lightly. It’s torture, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s— 

“Please!” The word bursts out of Steve, desperate, swallowed immediately by a moan. He fights to get his next words out as your hand returns to his heavy balls, caressing them soft and slow again. It’s not fucking enough. His pleas fall out all whimpery, “Take— take care of me, please, wanna cum, I wanna- I wanna—“ 

It’s the magic words. You grip his cock properly, your whole hand curling around him for the first time that night and you set a fast pace- lewd, squelching sounds echo in the bedroom. Steve keens forward, a soft cry coming from him as his pleasure turns into a blaze in his stomach. “Oh my god, oh god- yes, fuck—“ 

Your free hand moves to his tummy, scratching down to thatch of hair at the base of his cock and Steve can’t help it, he cums, hard. He turns his head, hides it in your neck and releases a whimpery sort of wail. His chest heaves as his pretty cock spurts out his hot pearly cum — coating your hand enough to ride him through it, your hand never stopping. 

“That’s it, so good,” You coo at him. Your sweet words carry him through it, your pace slowing as his body starts to twitch back against yours. His cock gives a few final dribbles of cum and you rub your thumb over his slit, spreading it. Steve whimpers loudly. “Mm, there we go.” 

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Steve feels wrung out, feels spent, feels like he had his brain melted out his ears — like he could just nap against you now and be happy forever. Your soft kiss against his cheek has him opening his eyes, pulling back enough to look at your face. 

“Good?” You ask, though he knows you can tell just how fucking good it was. “Good to be taken care of?” 

you in his car, in his lap, riding him and making those nice pitiful noises you do. you in his bed, beneath him, head thrown back in his sheets as you cry out. you, against the wall behind the family video, hidden away but only just, moaning into his hand as you try to keep quiet while you fall apart on his cock.

his cock begins to thicken in his pants just at the thought & steve shifts his weight.

“what’s the catch?” he asks.

“to make your challenge more difficult, you have to touch yourself every day of the month.”

“touch myself?”

“mhm,” you nod, eyes darting down to his bulge. your wicked grin grows at the sight of it growing in his jeans. “properly. not just a little touch, a proper jerk off. how long’s it take you to get hot and bothered? let’s say 5 minutes of stroking, each and every day.”

you’ve got this look in your face like you don’t think he can do it — so of course, steve takes the bait.

“easy.” he snips back, eyes narrowing. “hope you’ll spend the month getting prepared to take it. after a whole month of nothing? can’t promise i’ll be too gentle.”

your smile turns almost feline.

and so it begins. the first few days sail by, steve easily using his mornings in bed to stroke his cock idly, feeling his desire swell and then letting it swirl down the drain in a shower that gets colder every day. after the fifth day, steve has to admit it’s not nice — he can feel his mounting urge to cum building up but it’s not terrible. it’s certainly ignorable. he’s got this in the bag.

another five days pass— but now, he’s waking up aching hard. it takes longer now in the shower to get his hard-on to flag and worse when steve realises he has to still jerk off to win your challenge. his hand feels so much softer than usual and his keyed up lust springs to the surface to moment he starts to stroke himself— steve groans lowly, pressing his head against the tiles and tries go think of unpleasant things.

he fucks up on day 13.

his alarm goes off late and his dream had been lewd and vulgar, an endless loop of sinking his fat cock into you and envisioning how wet and warm you’d be around him. his cock is throbbing when he drags himself out of sleep and he realises he’s been humping against the mattress in his sleep.

the cold shower helps, barely. shivering beneath the icy spray, steve stares at his thickened cock and groans— knowing if he wraps his hand around it now and fucks his fist, he’ll cum in a minute.

so he leaves it and goes to work, wound up enough to snap at robin and then apologise 20 minutes later. you come into his work again, having been absent for the last couple of days, and it’s like you can smell it on him.

“hard morning?” you smirk at him.

“fuck off,” he growls, shoving a vcr back onto one of the shelves. then he looks back at you. “i’m still winning your stupid challenge by the way.”

“uh huh,” you say, not believing him at all. “how’s it’s been going? fucking your cock but never getting finish?”

even your words have an effect on him. steve feels his body flush, his dick strain in his pants, his gut churning with heat. he stiffens up and scrambles to think of a reply — but you’re already laughing.

“oh man, we’re not even halfway through the month and i think you could blow in your pants right here.” you muse teasingly. steve grips the shelf tighter and shakes over the fluster you have on him.

“i have more self restraint than that,” he snips back. the flush passes and he resumes his task, flashing you a quick glare.

you nod and hum again, like you don’t believe a thing he’s a saying, and then he’s watching you head out the door again.

the moment steve realises he’s fucked up is when he’s getting into bed. his cock is, thankfully, not hard — even if there is this persistent tug from his balls that never seems to leave. but he hasn’t stroked himself at all today.

painstakingly, he begins to — soft, gentle strokes over his cock, hoping, praying he can get five minutes in without working himself up too bad. it’s futile because it only takes about twenty seconds behind his cock is twitching in his hand, growing heavier, the head of it beginning to dribble pre-cum and steve moans in anguish into his pillow.

he stares at his alarm clock and strokes slowly, so slowly, having to stop every couple of seconds until finally five minutes passes. steve sighs and releases his cock which twitches in response, the head giving a sad spurt of pre-cum. he’s so keyed up he can’t possibly sleep. his cock is so hard it’s throbbing.

as he pulls his boxers up and buries himself under the duvet, but every touch is too stimulating, his skin on fire with how the urge to cum itches beneath it. he ends up having a very cold shoulder at 3am and his cock never fully softens.

it’s brutal from there on out. from day 14 onwards, his cock remains in this permanent state of aching, always half thickened and ready to go the moment it gets some stimulation. which turns out, is far easier to get now— jeans on the tighter side, the right seat, even the rumble of his car beneath him are enough to have steve swearing and pushing at his crotch, willing it to go down.

that’s how you find him on day 20, five minutes late for his shift because he’s staring down at his tented jeans and trying to think of anything to make it go away. your tap on his window makes him startle, seizing in his seat before he realises it’s probably the only person who’s expecting to see him with a boner in public.

“hard morning?” you joke again, this time pointing at his obvious bulge.

steve glares at you. “you already made that joke.”

“and you didn’t appreciate it the first time!” you say back cheerily. you round the front of his car and open the door, plopping yourself in the passenger seat like you own it.

“what are you doing?” steve asks, going to cross his arms but feeling terribly exposed. he settles for covering his groin, muscles twitching at the slight stimulation the weight of his hands does. his hips twitch forward.

“i’ve got a proposition for you,” you say.

steve shakes his head instantly. “nope, no way.”

you laugh at his quick insistence. “wait listen! i think you will want to consider it, okay?”

you pause and when steve doesn’t say anything more, just eyes you warily, you continue.

“i will knock off five whole days off your challenge,” you hold up your hand, fingers splayed out to indicate the number. your mischievous eyes make steve worry. even if five days off makes his challenge that much easier.

“if you do your five minutes today right now.”

steve blinks. his chest flushes hot at your proposal as it sinks in— here, in the parking lot in front of his work, you want him to jerk off for five whole minutes?

“what? right here?” the question bursts out of him.

it’s not busy out in the least. even in the store, steve hasn’t even seen keith walking about or any customers milling around. he knows keith won’t come outside to fetch him and he’s the only car in the parking lot, besides one another that parked down the other end.

“five minutes for five days off,” you say, twiddling your fingers with a wicked smile.

steve considers it, even though he can already feel his cock growing harder beneath his hands. he groans and throws his head back against the headrest. was he really about to do this?

he looks at the time and then starts to undo the button of his jeans. fuck, guess he was.

he steals a glance at you as he pulls down his zipper and tugs his jeans down a couple inches to expose his boxers. the mischief from your smile has faded, a hunger taking its place. steve averts his eyes, far too aware of how his cock twitches in his boxer at your attention.

he slips a hand into his boxers and curls it around his hard cock. a keening noise pulls from his throat and steve blushes scarlet— all his little noises as he’s spiraled into this lustful denial haven’t had an audience until right now.

he shifts his hand up, a slow stroke, but you’re quickly reaching out to grab his wrist, halting to movement. steve opens his eyes, not sure when they had closed, and makes a noise of confusion.

you grin deviously. “wait,” you point to the clock on the dash. “you can go when the minute changes, big boy.”

steve’s hips jump forward at your words, both the name and your denial. he groans before he can help it, his eyes trained intently on the dash. in his hand, his cock leaks pitifully, a wet spot beginning to stain through his boxers.

humiliatingly, you notice it too. “aw, you’re making a mess and you haven’t even started.”

“stop,” steve murmurs, aiming for stern but failing pathetically. the word comes out as a whine. his cheeks glow fiery hot.

you laugh and then tap his wrist— the minute having flicked over just a second ago.

steve starts his stroking, slow and easy, his eyes slipping closed. five minutes, he can do five minutes of jerking off. even if he was suddenly keenly aware of your watchful gaze, of the window beside him, of the pure exposure of the situation.

“that’s not jerking,” you huff disapprovingly. steve’s eyes crinkle open, his mouth already hung open as he pants softly. his hand does another pass over his cock and he smothers a moan into the palm of his hand.

“go faster or it won’t count.” you say wickedly and steve whimpers, his hand obeying without thought. with the way he’s leaking all over himself, it only takes a couple long strokes before he’s making lewd, wet noises as he fucks into his hand.

it shouldn’t be as hot as it is — rubbing his own cock while you watch, eyes darting between his moving hand and his flushed face. steve can hear himself making little noises with every exhale, tiny little whines as he burns up. the coil in his tummy tightens unexpectedly.

“f-fuck-!” he stops his hand completely, gripping the steering wheel with the other as he feels his orgasm swell. it grows closer, so near to tipping over that steve can’t control his hips as they keep moving, rutting into the air frantically, into nothing, as they try to get him over the edge.

it takes another thirty seconds for his breath to catch and steve to settle down enough to not cum immediately. he quivers in his seat. his eyes flutter open to look at you.

“that was really cute,” you muse, eyes almost feline, dragging up and down his body, slow as trickling honey. steve feels his cock twitch at your words, flushing hotly when your eyes dart to his boxers and definitely notice.

“not five minutes though,” you say with teasing tilt in your voice. you point to the clock on the dash. “i think that was… 1 whole minute?”

despite how he tries to stop it, steve can’t help the pathetic noise he makes in response. he wants to be able to finish this stupid fucking challenge you’ve set, wants to prove himself, wants to be good.

he starts moving his hand again before he can consider how bad of an idea it is. he should just say no and do the next ten days. but it’s wet and warm in his hand, the tip of his cock so drippy that he can pretend his hand is yours. you seem pleasantly surprised to see him going again so soon, your lids low as you watch him closely.

“are you normally this loud?”

steve knows you mean the slick noises coming from the way he’s fucking into his hand. he tries to huff but it comes out as a quiet moan and his face flushes hotter again.

he shakes his head instead, his hair scraping against the headrest. god, his neck is burning up. he’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life — but fuck, he can’t stop now.

“how- how ma- many minutes?” the words strain to get out, wrapped in his arousal. his nipples peak hard in his shirt, the friction only adding to his pleasure.

at some point, his hand stopped moving all together and his hips started doing all the work. steve presses against the drivers seat, hips lifting off and bucking into his hand and— shit, it’s too much, the sticky boxers are gonna make him cum if he rubs against them one more time.

in haste, he shoves them down his thighs, exposing his cock to you and anyone who deigns to take a peek in his window. something churns in his gut and steve screws his eyes up, willing himself not to cum yet. so close, he’s so close.

“just one more,” you say, suddenly sounding more breathy than before. steve’s eyes snap open, darting over to look at your face — but you’re fixated on his crotch, watching with a hungry expression.

your eyes lift to his face. another devious smile. steve whines. so close, he’s so fucking close, so close he can taste it. he can win, he can do it.

“steve,” you say softly, reaching out to nudge his chin in your direction. he wasn’t aware of when his eyes slipped shut again but your staring him in the face all lovingly, all wickedly and steve wills his orgasm down. another minute, another fucking minute, he can wait, he’s so close he’s— “cum,” you command.

steve does. white hot flashes through his body as he tips over the edge, ecstasy washing over every sense, stronger than he's ever felt before. his cock kicks up in his hand and a whorish moan drags out of his throat as he paints the steering wheel with ropes of cum.

for a minute, steve doesn't give a fuck if he's just lost— he just cares about how fucking good it feels to fuck his fist, to feel every pass over his slit all the way through his body. he whines and whimpers as the feeling tapers off, his hips finally settling down into the seat.

the mortification of what he's done begins to set it, like the drizzles of cum drying on his steering wheel. he can't stop panting, can't think of single word to say, his lips opening and closing as he tries to recover from the best orgasm of his life.

he hears the car door open and it shoots him into gear, stuffing himself back into his sticky boxers, a shiver going down his spine at how unpleasant it feels. oh fuck, and he's got a whole shift ahead of him.

you're still hovering, one hand on the open car door, leaned down and watching him frantically try to recover— all with that damned wicked smile on your face.

you rap your knuckles on the roof of the car. "damn. better luck next month, right harrington?"

you don't sound sorry at all. steve watches you close the door and leave, weaving between the stores and out of sight as his cock softens and his boxers grow colder. he screws his eyes up and smacks his head back against the headrest.

What is it?

Lazy Ghouls’ Kinktober is an abridged version of the traditional Kinktober prompt list. I made this prompt list because I love to write, but get afflicted by burnout and writers block easily, so I wanted to make something more accessible. Rather than committing to 31 separate fanfics, you’ll chose at least one prompt a week.

This list was specifically made to start tame and work up to more intense topics as the month progresses, while also avoiding major triggers such as noncon, CNC, and dubcon.

What if I want to write more than one fic a week?

Go for it! This prompt list was made to work for you! If you want to write all four prompts, or none at all, that’s A-OK.

How do I participate?

Just write! You could also repost this prompt list to spread the word, but that’s not required :) if you want, tag all of your works with #LazyGhoulsKinktober2023 so we can check out each others’ works!