Tongue Tied
On My Block fic with Oscar
CW: smut, alcohol, mentions of a piercing
Word count: 1319
“Silver?” Oscar calls from your bedroom.
Spitting out the alcohol-free mouthwash, you stuck your tongue out, moving around the glinting silver bar in the mirror. It was still sore, hurting more at certain angles
“‘S not my choice,” you manage, huffing at the sound of Oscar giggling like a schoolgirl at your slight lisp (you had sounded like you were talking through cotton the first few days). He had been teasing you all day, mocking your lisp and repeating words back to you. He sounded more like Mike Tyson than you when he did it.
Having to keep the silver bar in instead of gold was definitely not the best choice when all you wore was gold. Like, everywhere. And Oscar only ever gave you gold.
(“Looks cheap,” he had said. “Ain’t your birthstone blue or smthin’, too?”)
You walk out of the bathroom to find Oscar lounging on your bed, surveying the multiple posters and fairy lights you had hung up. He made sure to clear off your stuffed animals all nice. He wore his usual attire, with the permanent cross adorning his neck as always. There was definitely something to be said about how he looked against your room, surrounded by photos and handmade decorations. A bit frilly, smelling like coconut and shea butter and coffee, which eventually stayed ingrained in his clothes due to how close he was to you constantly. Lotion rubbing off, getting him all soft. Or even making him sit down and do a face mask with you, putting your moisturizer on him after (“So that’s how you got all soft.”), always taking such good care of him.
You flop down beside him, nose scrunching at the sting of the tender wound around the metal. “Lemme see it,” Oscar said, grabbing at your jaw and carefully pulling your mouth open. Well, as carefully as he could, he was still a bit heavy-handed. He turned your face from side to side to see it glint in the light, his lips perking up at the sight. “Ooo, es linda,” he cooed, a teasing tone in his words.
He pressed his lips against your forehead, then between your brows, and your nose, your cupid's bow… but you stopped him before he was able to fully kiss you, pushing him away. “Can’t,” you state, shivering at the metal tapping against your teeth. “Infection.” (Enfecshion)
He huffed, rolling away to grab a glass bottle from the case of beer he brought with him. “Sounds like it hurts,” he points out, twisting off the cap and handing you it. He always insisted you get his first sip. so he could taste your chapstick
You take it generously, taking a fairly big swig. The lingering cold from being in the fridge helped a little. Before you could swipe the little mark from your lips on the bottle, he took it back and drank from it, holding it back out for you.
“Can’t have my princesa in pain,” he explains, faux innocence lingering in his words with his smirk. No man who could smirk without it looking stupid was a man that could be trusted… (yet look where you ended up, going on nearly eight months)
As you took another drink, his hands traveled inconspicuously (tried to. Again, heavy handed) onto your thigh–right where your femur connected to your hip, fingertips already sliding way past the hem of your shorts (again, heavy handed)--looking away when you glared at him. You sat the bottle on the ledge of your window.
(You know those dogs that know they’re guilty because they look away and stare at the molding on the doorframe like it’s the most interesting thing? Yeah. That.)
He was never a patient man. How could he be? He just wanted to see how the piercing sparkled whenever your mouth hung in a silent moan. Adorable, really. He couldn’t wait to buy cute jewelry to watch instead of… other things.
“Don’t blame me,” he shrugged, looking back at you (really at your lips… the ones on your face. Dirty minded, tut tut.) while fingers slid past your panties, playing right outside... “You’re just so pretty.”
Damn it, did he want to feel that piercing against his tongue, see how it felt running over his cross.
His teeth glimmered almost as bright as the bar stuck in your muscle whenever you squirmed, laying back on your pillows.
Oscar tugged down your shorts immediately, along with your panties. “Oscar!” you yelp, pulling your shirt down to cover yourself. “The blind!” (...Othcer…)
“What? Let them see my pretty girl,” he dismisses, tone absentminded, too focused on how easily his fingers split you open, just for him. All for him. Just gorgeous. He pulled you toward him easily, dragging you away from the support of the pillows, pushing your knees toward your chest. He undid his own belt, almost snapping the zipper off.
Groaning, he pushed into you slightly, bottoming out before you could even prepare. Your small pushing on his shoulders turned into desperate clawing. So deep. And pretty. You couldn’t help but mewl, panting to catch your breath.
And the glinting of that damn ball had his eyebrows furrowing and his dick chubbing up even more.
He pulled back, almost slipping out, before going back in carefully (as carefully as he could. It still felt like a jackhammer) and pawing at the soft flesh that sat right above where his dick stretched. In… out… in… out.
Oh… oh god. Damn this man and his beautiful ability to make you cum in seconds.
In…
Oh god, Oh god… this would be embarrassing if it was anyone else.
Out…
OhgodOhgodOhgodOhgod
In…
“Oscar!” you squealed, the small ache in your joints nothing to this. He pulled out abruptly, clear liquid splattering across his cargo shorts, and your wonderful ecstasy delayed but not ended as he kept thumbing at your clit, like a rollercoaster stuck on the top. He just chuckled when you slammed your fist against his shoulder. He’d felt worse before.
“C’mon, stop holding your breath,” he pinched your chin between his thumb and pointer, pulling your jaw downward. “I wanna hear your voice.”
It was almost pathetic the noise that came out–a wail, like a boat. You didn't like being loud, but he did. Oh, it sounded like a siren call.
He slipped back in, your body pressing into the mattress at the chill of him being covered in your slick. Even the back of your thighs were wet. His hips met yours again, this time with a fervor, a need. A buzz filled your ears as all you could hear was the hollow sound of hips against hips.
Every tug of him reeling back made you shake, and the sight of your piercing was making his cheeks hot. So pretty, so gorgeous. That metal would look adorable elsewhere too.
Your muscles tensed, aching, stomach clenching but nothing coming. The pace was delicious, and so was his nudging. It was frustrating. Looking up though, Oscar wouldn’t meet your eyes, too focused on the piercing shivering. Oh. There it was.
You curled up at the sensation, your calf muscle cramping and yet, it didn’t matter. It felt so good. You didn’t even notice you had grabbed his shirt, balling it up in your fists.
His orgasm hit him like a freight train, pulling out in the nick of time so that he wouldn’t have a stork dropping a bundle of blankets at the doorstep. Instead he chose to paint your shirt white.
Gasping, he looked down… and oh my god did he almost get racked again. You, finally uncurling a fist from his shirt to tug your shirt down to cover yourself, hiding your face in his arm–and most importantly, your tongue flicking out to wet your lips.
Maybe he could paint a nursery too.
“You look good with that bar,” he choked out. “Bet they’d look good in your nipples too.”
“Oscar!”
Credits to ellyzmesstuff for the idea!!!
