Hello!

The hotel suite in Monaco was breathtaking-floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor, a king-sized bed with crisp white linens, and the kind of luxury that came with dating a Formula 1 driver. But right now, you weren't thinking about the view or the expensive furnishings. You were thinking about Lando.

He stood by the window, still in his team polo from the day's events, his curly hair slightly disheveled. The golden hour light painted him in warm tones, and when he turned to look at you, that familiar playful smile crossed his face.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, crossing the room to where you sat on the edge of the bed.

Your heart raced. You'd been thinking about this conversation for weeks now, working up the courage. You and Lando had been together for almost a year, and your sex life was incredible—passionate, adventurous, satisfying. But there was something you'd been wanting to try, something you'd never done with anyone before.

"Actually," you said, reaching for his hand as he sat beside you, "there's something I want to talk to you about."

Lando's expression shifted to one of concern, his thumb automatically stroking the back of your hand. "Everything okay?"

"More than okay," you assured him quickly. "It's just... there's something I've been thinking about. Something I want to try. With you."

Interest sparked in his blue-green eyes. "I'm listening."

You took a breath, feeling heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself. "I want to try anal. With you. I've never done it before, but I trust you, and I... I want to experience it with you."

Lando's eyes widened slightly, and you watched several emotions cross his face-surprise, desire, and something softer. Tenderness, maybe. He cupped your face with his free hand.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently. "I mean, I'm definitely interested, but I want to make sure this is really what you want. Not something you think I want."

"I'm sure," you said, leaning into his touch. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I want to try new things with you. I want... everything with you."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Everything, huh?" He leaned in, kissing you softly. "Then we'll take it slow. Make sure you're comfortable every step of the way. This is about both of us feeling good, yeah?"

"Yeah," you breathed, already feeling desire pooling in your belly at the promise in his voice.

"Have you done any research?" Lando asked, ever practical. "Because I have. Just in case this ever came up."

You laughed, some of the tension easing. "Of course you have. What did you learn?"

"Lots of prep. Lots of lube. Patience. Communication." He kissed you again, deeper this time. "And that it can be really, really good if we do it right."

"Then let's do it right," you whispered against his lips.

Lando pulled back, his eyes dark with desire but also serious. "Not tonight, though. I want to make sure we have everything we need. Proper supplies, plenty of time, no distractions." He traced your jawline with his finger. "When we do this, I want it to be perfect for you."

Your heart swelled with affection for this man who always put your pleasure and comfort first. "Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow night," he decided. "After the sponsor event. I'll make sure we have the evening completely free. I'll get everything we need." His hand slid down your neck, across your collarbone. "But that doesn't mean we can't practice some... preparation tonight."

Heat flooded through you at his words, at the implication. "What kind of preparation?"

"Let me show you," Lando murmured, standing and pulling you up with him. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming your body, relearning curves he knew by heart. "I want to make sure you're ready. That your body is ready."

He walked you backward toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours. Your hands found the hem of his polo, tugging it up and over his head. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the lean muscle of his torso flexing as he moved.

Lando made quick work of your clothes, his touch reverent as he revealed your body. When you were both naked, he laid you back on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs.

"Tonight," he said, kissing down your body, "I'm going to get you used to the sensation. Just with my fingers. Nice and slow. If anything doesn't feel good, you tell me immediately. Okay?"

"Okay," you agreed, already trembling with anticipation.

He started with familiar territory, his mouth finding your breasts, tongue circling your nipples until they peaked. His hand slid between your legs, fingers stroking through your folds, finding you already wet.

"God, you're so responsive," he murmured appreciatively. "I love how your body reacts to me."

He worked you expertly, fingers sliding inside you, thumb circling your clit, building your pleasure steadily. When you were gasping, hips rocking against his hand, he shifted slightly.

"I'm going to touch you," he said softly. "Just externally at first. Tell me how it feels."

You felt his finger, slick with your arousal, circle your other entrance. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant-a different kind of sensitivity. He was gentle, just massaging, letting you get used to the feeling.

"Okay?" he asked, watching your face carefully.

"Okay," you confirmed. "It feels... different. But good."

"Good." He continued the gentle massage while his other hand kept working between your legs, keeping your pleasure building. The dual sensations were overwhelming in the best way.

"I'm going to use some lube baby," Lando said, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand. "And just press in a little bit. Just the tip of my finger. You tell me if it's too much."

You felt the cool slickness of the lubricant, and then gentle pressure. Lando moved slowly, so slowly, just barely breaching you. The sensation was intense-a fullness, a stretch, but not painful.

"Breathe," he reminded you gently. "Relax into it."

You did, consciously relaxing your muscles, and felt him slide in a bit further. His other hand never stopped its work between your legs, keeping pleasure at the forefront.

"How's that?" Lando asked, his voice strained with his own arousal.

"Good," you gasped. "Really good."

He began to move his finger slowly, letting you adjust to the sensation. Combined with his other hand's ministrations, the pleasure was building to an almost unbearable peak.

"That's it," he encouraged. "You're doing so well. You feel incredible."

The praise sent a thrill through you, and you felt yourself climbing toward orgasm. Lando seemed to sense it, adjusting his rhythm, and then you were cuming, the orgasm crashing over you in waves. The sensation of his finger inside you during your climax was intense, different, and incredibly arousing.

When you came down, Lando carefully withdrew his finger and moved up to kiss you deeply. You could feel his erection pressed against your thigh, hard and ready.

"Your turn," you murmured, reaching for him.

—

The next evening, after the sponsor event, you returned to the hotel suite with a mixture of excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Lando had been attentive all day, checking in with you, making sure you still wanted to go through with it.

"I got supplies," he said, gesturing to a discreet bag on the dresser. "High-quality lube, some toys to help with prep if we need them. I want this to be as comfortable as possible for you."

You kissed him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, cupping your face. "We're going to take this slow, okay? If at any point you want to stop, we stop. No questions, no disappointment.“

"I know," you said, meaning it. That was one of the things you loved most about Lando-his genuine care for your wellbeing, especially in intimate moments.

He led you to the bathroom, where he'd already drawn a bath. "Thought we'd start here," he explained. "Get you relaxed."

The bath was perfect-warm and fragrant with expensive bath oils. You both slipped into the water, and Lando pulled you back against his chest. His hands roamed your body, massaging your shoulders, your breasts, between your legs. It was sensual and relaxing all at once.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his lips against your ear.

"Good. Excited. A little nervous," you admitted.

"That's normal," he assured you. "We'll go at your pace. There's no rush."

After the bath, he dried you off carefully, then led you to the bed. He'd laid out towels and the supplies within easy reach. The thoughtfulness of it made your heart swell.

"Lie on your stomach," Lando instructed gently. "I'm going to give you a massage first. Get you really relaxed."

You obeyed, and felt him straddle your thighs. His hands, slick with massage oil, worked over your back, your shoulders, down your spine. He took his time, working out every bit of tension, until you were practically melting into the mattress.

His hands moved lower, massaging your ass, your thighs. The touch was sensual but not rushed, building anticipation slowly. You felt him shift, and then his lips were following the path his hands had taken, kissing down your spine, across the curve of your ass.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Every inch of you."

His hands spread you gently, and you felt his tongue, warm and wet, licking between your legs from behind. The sensation made you gasp, hips lifting involuntarily. He licked and sucked, bringing you pleasure, getting you wet and ready.

Then his tongue moved higher, circling your other entrance, and you moaned into the pillow. The sensation was incredible-intimate and arousing in a way you'd never experienced.

"Lando," you gasped. "Oh god."

"Feel good?" he asked, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"So good," you confirmed.

He continued for a few more minutes, getting you used to the sensation, before reaching for the lube. "I'm going to use my fingers now," he said. "Just like last night, but we'll go a bit further. Tell me if anything doesn't feel right."

You felt the cool lube, then the gentle pressure of his finger. He worked slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to each new sensation. When one finger was comfortable, he added more lube and carefully worked in a second.

The stretch was more intense, but not painful. Lando kept his other hand between your legs, stroking you, keeping pleasure at the forefront. He moved his fingers slowly, carefully, letting your body adjust.

"You're doing so well," he praised. "Taking my fingers so good. You feel amazing."

His words sent heat through you, and you pushed back against his hand, wanting more. He worked you like this for several minutes, building your pleasure, stretching you carefully.

"I think you're ready," Lando said finally, carefully withdrawing his fingers. "But we're going to take it really slow. You're in control, okay? We can stop anytime."

"Okay," you agreed, your body thrumming with anticipation.

He helped you onto your hands and knees, positioning pillows under your hips for support. You heard him applying generous amounts of lube to himself, and then felt him position himself behind you.

"Ready?" he asked, one hand stroking your back soothingly.

"Yeah," you confirmed.

You felt the head of his cock press against you, and Lando pushed forward with the barest amount of pressure. The stretch was intense, more than his fingers, and you breathed through it, consciously relaxing.

"That's it," Lando encouraged. "You're doing so good baby, just breathe. Tell me when you're ready for more."

He held still, letting you adjust, one hand reaching around to stroke between your legs. The pleasure helped you relax, and after a moment, you pushed back slightly.

"More," you said.

Lando pushed forward incrementally, so slowly, giving you time to adjust to each new sensation.

The stretch was intense, bordering on uncomfortable, but not quite painful. And underneath it was something else-a fullness, a different kind of pleasure.

"Halfway," Lando said, his voice strained. "You feel incredible. So tight. Are you okay?"

"Yes," you gasped. "Keep going."

He continued his slow advance, his hand never stopping its work between your legs, until finally, you felt his hips flush against your ass. He was fully inside you, and the sensation was overwhelming.

"Oh my god," you breathed.

"I know," Lando said, his voice rough with restraint. "You're taking all of me. You feel so fucking good. How do you feel?"

"Full," you managed. "So full. It's intense."

"Good intense or bad intense?" he asked, holding perfectly still.

"Good," you decided. "Really good."

"Can I move?" he asked. "Nice and slow?"

"Yes. Please."

Lando began to move, pulling out slightly before pushing back in. The friction was unlike anything you'd experienced-intense and overwhelming. He kept his movements slow and controlled, one hand gripping your hip while the other continued to work between your legs.

"You're amazing," he groaned. "Taking me so well. Does it feel good?"

"Yes," you gasped. "Don't stop."

He established a rhythm, slow and deep, each thrust sending waves of sensation through your body. The combination of his cock inside you and his fingers on your clit was building toward something intense.

"I can feel you getting close, baby" Lando said. "Come for me. I want to feel you cum like this."

His words, combined with the intense sensations, pushed you over the edge. The orgasm was different from any you'd experienced-deeper, more intense, radiating through your entire body. You cried out, your body clenching around him, and heard Lando groan.

"Fuck, that's incredible," he gasped. "You're incredible. Can I cum? Are you okay if I cum?"

"Yes," you managed. "Please."

Lando's rhythm increased slightly, still careful but more urgent, and then he was coming, buried deep inside you. You felt him pulse, felt the warmth, and it prolonged your own pleasure.

He held still for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before carefully, slowly withdrawing. The sensation of emptiness was strange after such fullness.

Lando immediately pulled you into his arms, kissing your face, your neck, your shoulders.

"Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"I'm good," you said, and meant it. "That was... intense. Amazing."

"You were amazing," he said, holding you close. "So brave, so trusting. I love you so much."

"I love you too," you replied, snuggling into his embrace.

He got up briefly to get a warm washcloth, cleaning you both gently, then returned to bed and pulled you close. His hands stroked your back soothingly, and you felt completely safe, completely loved.

"So," Lando said after a while, a smile in his voice. "Would you want to do that again sometime?"

You laughed, tilting your head up to look at him. "Definitely. Maybe next time I can be on top? Have more control?"

His eyes darkened with renewed interest. "I would love that. You riding me like that? Fuck, that's a hot image."

"Insatiable," you teased, but you were already thinking about it, already anticipating the next time.

"Only for you," he said, echoing your words from before. "Only ever for you."

As you lay there in his arms, completely satisfied and deeply content, you thought about how lucky you were. To have found someone who made you feel safe enough to explore, to try new things, to push boundaries. Someone who put your pleasure and comfort first, always.

"Thank you," you said softly. "For making that so perfect."

"Thank you for trusting me," Lando replied, kissing the top of your head. "For letting me be your first for this. That means everything to me."

You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's arms, already dreaming of all the other firsts you'd share together.

ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ʀᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ - ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʀᴇϙᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

Not uncomfortable because you dislike it. Uncomfortable because you do. And will never admit that.

“You always smell nice,” he says casually.

You keep your eyes on the wire in your hands. “Battery pack’s loose.”

“That wasn’t related to what I said.”

You took a deep breath as your eyes shut instinctively for just a moment.

“I know.”

“Hm.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and if you lowered your gaze you knew you’d be staring right at a deep dimple and a cheeky twitch of his chin.

You clip the pack onto the back of his pants, fingers brushing the warm fabric of his shirt and leaving just as quick as they got there.

“All set,” you call, slapping your palms to your sides lightly as you back further away from his body.

And then he’s looking at you. In that way he always does before he goes on stage. A rudely passionate look of teasing that will leave you dizzy for the next 2 hours. He knows it, too. It’s why he does it.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer you for a minute. Just stares at you a bit longer. Over your jaw. The curve of your neck, exposed by your loose pony. All with a grin of his own deepening and his eyes squinting just a tinge.

And then he snaps back into casualness like nothing was on his mind at all.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, standing from his chair, “see you after the show.”

You nod.

“See you.”

He turns toward the door, shoulders brushing past one of the stylists waiting near the hallway, and for a second you think that’s it. Because it usually is.

You fix what you need to fix. You set him up. You say goodbye. And then he’s on stage and you have a brief intermission of peace before he’s back in front of you at the end of the night.

But then he glances back.

Just briefly, but enough for your stomach to tighten in that stupid familiar way that you worry will someday get you fired.

The hallway outside the green room still buzzes with movement and things you half understand. Stage managers calling cues, security talking into headsets, other crew members rushing past with last minute equipment. Harry looks entirely unbothered by any of it. Calm, even, like he has all the time in the world.

Your mouth moves before your brain catches up.

“Good luck.”

The words slip out softer than you intended. More personal, too. Less like a colleague hoping for the best and more like someone who cares too much about the other. Immediately, you regret them.

Because Harry stops dead in the doorway. And then slowly turns back toward you like if he's worried that it was someone else who said it. The grin spreading across his face is instant.

God.

That unbearably smug expression that only gets worse the second he realizes he’s gotten something genuine out of you. Then his smile widens even further, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks and eyes crinkling kindly.

“Thanks, y/n.”

Far too satisfied with himself.

A laugh slips quietly out of him as he starts backing into the hallway again, still looking directly at you with that same sly expression stretched across his face. Like he’s just won something.

Someone calls his name farther down the corridor.

So he finally tears his eyes off you, spinning around smoothly and continuing toward stage with an annoyingly confident bounce in his step.

Entirely too pleased with himself over two stupid words.

And even worse? You’re smiling a little before you can stop yourself.

It is endearing—his crush. It’s also incredibly obvious. The last few months of your life have been filled with flirts and teases and smirks that have your heart on the brink of exploding right there in your chest.

Champagne problems, right?

But it really was starting to become a problem. You were a professional. Apart of this industry for longer than you can count. And you were not about to start things up with your boss and destroy the reputation you’ve built for yourself for years. No matter how sexy his gaze got or how desperate his words became.

So you spend the entirety of his show in his open dressing room backstage, lounging upon a green velvet chair and scrolling mindlessly through your screen. You were grateful you had the night off tonight apart from backstage aid.

Baking recipes. Funny clips of animals. A new way to wear your hair. Skin care brands random people are trying to sell you.

Anything to get your mind off of him.

But it’s hard when his voice is echoing around the arena simultaneously. Whining through the microphone and screaming melodies that flow through him as if there’s no effort needed at all.

It was a sick routine you’ve been stuck in. Every show. Set him up, do your duties, listen to him against your will backstage or in the audio booth if that was your assignment, and then dissemble him before he goes home. You’ve been stuck with him every minute of all your days for the entire tour. Which would usually be great news; if he wasn’t nagging at you for a drop of attention too.

But you would stay professional. Calm. You knew you would.

So when the show ended and you both ended up back in his green room, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself to exercise your best rejection tactics.

The show leaves him glowing every time. Not literally, obviously, but close enough. So extra preparation was more than necessary. Especially considering there were about 6 other colleagues back here awaiting for his arrival as well.

By the time Harry pushes through the green room door, the adrenaline is still clinging to him—cheeks pink from exertion, curls damp at the edges, chest rising heavier beneath the half unbuttoned shirt clung lightly to his skin. The roar of the crowd still echoes faintly through the arena halls outside while people trail in after him offering congratulations, water bottles, notes about tomorrow’s schedule.

And somehow, within five seconds of entering the room, his eyes find you.

Of course they do. And you’re not totally sure if you want to die right there or enjoy it with a smile.

You’re crouched near the coffee table reorganizing equipment cases from the stage reset, pretending not to notice.

“You stayed,” he says immediately.

You don’t look up from the tangled wire in your hands. “I work here.”

“Mhm.” You can hear the grin in his voice already. “Still very professional as always.”

You ignore that completely.

Harry drops onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, legs spread comfortably while someone hands him a towel. He thanks them absently, attention never really leaving you.

“You work in the sound booth tonight?”

“Had the night off. Was just back here tonight.”

“Mm. Maybe that’s why it smells so nice back here.”

You finally glance up briefly. “Need something?”

His mouth twitches. There’s always this look he gets when you refuse to react properly to him. Half amused, half fascinated. Like he genuinely cannot understand how you keep resisting him after months of this.

“Need?” he repeats lazily. “No. Like hearing your voice, though.”

You bite down your smile as hard as you can. Fighting to stay within the boundaries of a work place and not further alarm your other colleagues around you.

You go back to untangling the cable immediately. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious.”

“Thought you were exhausted.” You dead pan, looking over at him sprawled on the couch from your position on the floor.

“I was. Then you spoke to me.”

A nearby stylist snorts quietly before pretending not to listen. Your jaw tightens slightly.

Because that’s another thing Harry loves. Saying things in front of other people just to watch you try to stay composed. It was fucked up. And it was constant. Like, all the time.

You stand, carrying the equipment case toward the table near him. The second you step close enough, Harry tilts his head back against the couch cushion to look up at you.

Way too pretty after a two hour show.

Honestly rude.

It was all post-show warmth and lazy satisfaction. Sweat still clung faintly to his skin beneath the dim lights of the green room, curls damp and pushed messily away from his forehead where he’d run his hands through them a dozen times already. His cheeks were flushed pink from the stage heat, lips slightly parted while he caught his breath, and those marbled green eyes stayed fixed on you with a softness that felt entirely too intimate for a room still full of people.

And then he smiled. Slow at first. Sleepy almost. Until the corner of his mouth pulled higher and that deep dimple pressed into his cheek.

“You’re staring.”

And shit, you were.

You snap your gaze away quickly and trot across the room to gather the box for his in-ears with a shake of your head. “Wasn’t.”

“Was.”

You look back at him sharply, “Wasn’t.”

“Was too,” and his smile tells you all you need to know. This is fun for him. A game of sorts.

You just huff, opening the box in front of him and silently gesturing for him to put his monitors inside so you can, you know, get the fuck out of here.

He complies. Placing his in-ears in the box gently and staring up at you with a cocked grin while he does it. You kept your gaze down. Focused on the box and the work in front of you.

Once the box is closed and back on the audio cart, you grab your purse and take out your pony tail.

And also try to ignore the burning gaze that’s been following your every move while you do so.

“Alright, I’m heading out for the n—”

“I like your hair down like that. Looks nice.”

You stare at him like he cannot be serious right now.

“Thank you,” you say, clearing your throat and gripping tighter against the strap of your purse. “I’m heading out for the night.”

He grins. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” you nod, pattering out of the room as quick as you can.

“Goodnight.”

-

“Good morning!”

Someone was in a fantastic mood this morning.

You, were not.

“Morning,” you mumble, wobbling past him as you rub your eyes carelessly.

The venue halls were painfully bright at eight in the morning. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off concrete floors, cases rolled loudly through corridors, and somewhere nearby someone was already doing mic checks loud enough to make your headache worse.

You were exhausted.

Not normal tired. Not fixable with coffee tired. Bone deep, eyes burning, don’t talk to me tired.

The kind that sat heavily behind your ribs after months on tour and too little sleep and too many late nights spent tearing down equipment after shows.

You threw your headset crooked over your hair while you leaned against one of the equipment tables at monitor world, staring blankly into the cup of coffee in your hands like it was useless. It kind of was.

And he was already trotting back behind you to continue to bother you.

Harry leaned against the edge of the table across from you, completely uninvited and entirely too comfortable there. His eyes moved slowly over your face, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and your obvious irritation with visible amusement.

“You look tired.”

You look back up at him plainly.

“Insightful.”

“You sleep at all?”

“A little.”

“Mhm.” His grin deepened knowingly. “You’re doing that thing where you answer questions like you hate me.”

“I do hate you right now.”

He could’ve laughed at your face right there.

“No, you don’t.”

You took another sip of coffee just to avoid responding. Harry stared at you over the rim of his own cup. Completely entertained, like this was his morning news and he needed to tune in.

“Y/n, the sound booth needs you in 5.”

You wince, shutting your eyes briefly before calling out an okay and shrugging off your purse.

“Bye y/n,” Harry smiles, tilting his head playfully like your exhaustion is only here for his entertainment.

“Bye Harry.”

You barely saw him for the rest of the day after that.

Every time you turned around, someone needed something. A frequency issue during rehearsals, a missing pack during load in, comms crackling endlessly in your ear while production schedules shifted by the minute.

By the afternoon, you were too busy to think about him much at all, which was probably a good thing considering the smile he’d walked away wearing that morning.

The show passed in a blur from the booth. You stood behind the glowing soundboards with your headset pressed tighter against one ear while the arena shook around you, lights flashing across thousands of screaming fans.

From back there, Harry looked different. Bigger somehow. Untouchable. All confidence and movement and effortless charm under the stage lights. Still, more than once, your stomach tightened when you caught his gaze flick briefly toward the booth like he was checking for you without meaning to.

Now the show was over, and you stood backstage in the green room with tired shoulders and aching feet while crew members rushed around tearing equipment down around you. The adrenaline of the concert had faded, leaving only exhaustion behind.

You leaned against the wall quietly, absentmindedly twisting your headset cord around your fingers while waiting for the post show chaos to settle.

Voices echoed down the hallway before the door even opened. You recognized Harry’s immediately, warm and animated in that post show way he always got, still riding the adrenaline high from stage.

But there was another voice with him this time.

A woman’s laugh floated down the corridor a second later, light and airy. Your stomach tightened instinctively before you could stop it. You didn’t want it to. But it happened.

Then the green room door swung open.

Harry walked in first, still glowing from the show, hair damp around his forehead and sleeves shoved messily to his elbows. Beside him was a brunette woman you vaguely recognized from the VIP tent earlier, pretty in an effortless kind of way, light eyes bright as she looked up at him while he talked.

And she was laughing. Like, a lot. At everything.

Harry said something you didn’t even catch properly while shrugging off his jacket, and she laughed immediately, hand brushing his arm like he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

You looked back down at the audio sheet in your hands before your expression could betray you.

Absolutely ridiculous.

People laughed at Harry constantly. He was charming. Funny. Famous. None of this was unusual. You’d fallen victim to it more times than you’d like to mention too. It really wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, especially working so close to him.

Still, every time her laugh floated across the room again, your eyes flicked over before you could stop them.

And every single time, Harry caught you doing it.

Of course he did.

You could feel it almost instantly, the subtle shift in his attention whenever your gaze landed on them together. Like he became hyperaware of you the second you started pretending not to look.

Annoying.

You crouched beside the audio cart near the wall, reorganizing cables that were already organized just to keep your hands busy. It was sad, but you were this close to breaking something and you’d rather it be equipment instead of someone’s face.

Across the room, the brunette laughed again at something mildly amusing at best.

No offense to Harry.

Your eyes rolled automatically before you could stop them. And when you glanced up, Harry was already looking at you. His mouth twitched instantly, like he’d officially decided everything you were feeling now. His assumptions have been proven correct.

“Y/n,” Harry called casually from the couch area, too close to the mystery women for comfort.

Your response came flat without looking up. “What?”

“Did you switch comm packs after the encore?”

A stupid question.

“Mhm.”

“That one’s mine or Glen’s?”

“Yours.”

It came out colder than you meant it to, but it was honestly a stupid question and you were growing more and more irritated with every passing second.

You heard the tiny pause afterward, like Harry was reveling in this moment and couldn’t believe it was real.

“Thanks,” he said slowly, amusement already slipping into his voice.

You only hummed in response.

The brunette looked between the two of you curiously before turning back toward Harry when he said something quietly to her.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, she laughed again.

Good God.

Your jaw tightened slightly without meaning too, stuck between the frustration of these fucking wires layered between the echoing laughs of a spunky brunette.

“You alright over there?” Harry asked after a minute.

You clipped another cable into place. “Fine.”

“You seem grumpy.” He called, the second time he’s said the word today.

“I’m tired.”

“Mhm.” That sound alone irritated you.

You glanced up briefly to find him leaning back against the couch cushions now, one arm stretched along the back while he watched you with obvious interest. Like he was enjoying this. Actually enjoying it.

“Could you grab us two waters?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked at him once, like you couldn’t beleive this was a real question. Then looked toward the fully stocked fridge less than six feet from where he sat.

“There are plenty of other people here,” you said evenly. “I’m busy.”

Silence.

The brunette shifted awkwardly beside him while Harry stared at you for half a second. And then, a grin spread slowly across his face. Deep dimples. Bright eyes. Entirely too entertained.

Your stomach dropped immediately.

Because he knew.

“Oh my God,” he murmured softly, almost to himself.

You narrowed your eyes instantly, standing straight up against the cart now with your hands leveling you, “What?”

But Harry was already standing and looking much too pleased with himself.

“I’ll get them myself,” he said lightly to the brunette before starting across the room.

Toward you.

You immediately looked back down at the cables in your hands like they suddenly required your full concentration. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t stop until he was directly beside the audio cart. Close enough that you could smell the lingering mix of cologne and stage sweat still clinging to him after the show.

“You’re jealous,” he said quietly.

You scoffed immediately, “I’m not.”

“Y/n.” His voice was warm with amusement. “You practically rolled your eyes to the back of your skull every time she laughed.”

You dropped what you were working on and pulled closer to his face, “She laughed at things that weren’t funny.”

Harry bit back a grin.

“There she is.”

“Harry, what?” You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. Not ever, really. And you had shit to take care of.

“You got mean.”

“I’m usually mean to you?”

“No,” His eyes dragged slowly over your face, “Usually you’re pretending not to like me. Tonight you looked like you wanted to kill somebody.”

Heat crawled violently up your neck before you could stop it, his words genuinely shocking you past your normal point of surprise. He was always bold with you. But this was honest. Too honest.

“I do not care who you bring backstage.”

You barely even believed yourself when those words fell out of you.

“Mhm.”

“I don’t.”

“You told me to get my own water,” he continues to whisper, trying to hide the conversation from the women on the couch. Who, by the way, has clearly been growing more antsy for his return with every passing second.

“There was a fridge right there,” you say like it’s an obvious reason for your denial.

“You’ve gotten me water before.”

You opened your mouth immediately, then stopped. Harry’s grin widened in triumph.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” he laughed softly.

You don’t know why you started to feel genuinely angry, but you did. Maybe it was the way he was speaking, almost patronizing, like he had you all figured out before you had the chance to yourself.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he was starting to pull the truth out of you which you’ve been so desperately avoiding.

“You are so full of yourself,” you said, and it came out more honest than you intended. Harsh, even.

“And you,” he said, stepping just slightly closer, “are jealous. And too fucking scared to ever admit it.”

Like your comment before didn’t phase him at all.

You just stare at him with heavy breaths, your face and neck heating up before you could stop them. You were furious over his attitude. His confidence. The way he spoke like he was the smartest person in the room and the way he was looking at you like he knew you’d fold soon.

“Enjoy your night. I hope your dick enjoys her as much as your head enjoys this bullshit.”

Way too mean. Absolutely past the point of professional boundaries.

You knew it the second you said it, and so did he. His face was genuinely shocked, like you’ve officially surprised him for the first time in his life. He didn’t seem angry, necessarily. Just…you don’t even know. Just shocked.

And silent.

You shoved through the backstage hallway doors before he could say another word to you.

The sound room was blissfully empty when you stormed inside, the muffled crowds from the arena now distant through thick walls while rows of glowing consoles blinked quietly in the dark.

Good. Because if another person looked at you right now, you might actually lose your mind.

You dropped a headset onto the table harder than necessary and immediately started yanking cords loose from the side rack with sharp, irritated movements. Stupid. This whole thing was so unbelievably stupid.

Your chest still burned from the look on his face back there, smug and amused while that girl sat beside him laughing at every breath he took. Like he enjoyed watching you unravel. Like this had all just been a game to him for months.

A cable slipped from your hands and smacked loudly against the table, echoing throughout the empty area.

“Careful,” Harry’s voice came from the doorway. “Those are expensive.”

You froze for a moment, breath hitched at his sudden presence, and then continued packing without turning around.

“Go away.”

The door shut behind him, closing the two of you inside of the empty room much too late in the night.

“No.”

Your jaw tightened, already frustrated at his quick denial as if your words were a suggestion. They weren’t. You heard his footsteps approach slowly across the room while you wrapped another cord aggressively around your hand.

“Seriously,” you snapped, “I’m working.”

“You’re furious.”

“I’m not furious.”

Harry laughed once under his breath. Wrong move. You spun around immediately.

“Do you seriously think this is funny?”

His expression shifted slightly at the volume in your voice, but he still looked more frustrated than apologetic now. Green eyes sharp beneath messy curls, chest still rising faintly from the remains of the show adrenaline.

There was no smiles anymore. From either of you. It was clear how frustrated you both were as you stood a small distance apart, breaths heavy and eyes low like you two were trying to figure out how to speak without screaming in each other's faces.

“I think,” he said carefully, “you’re finally reacting honestly for once.”

You stared at him in disbelief, as if he knew you at all.

“Honestly?” you repeated. “You bring some random girl backstage and spend the whole night looking at me like it’s the most entertain—”

“She wasn’t random.”

“I don’t care who she was.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I care that you’re sick in the head.”

Harry blinked at the one. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Your voice echoed sharply off the walls now. “You spend months messing with me and flirting with me and pushing me constantly, and then you parade another woman around in front of me like you’re trying to prove how easy this is for you.”

His eyebrows pulled together instantly, taking a step forward until there were only a couple of inches between you both.

The crease between his brows was loud. The flush on his cheeks was freshening, and the sharp glare of his eyes was the most telling of it all.

“Easy?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you think this is?”

“I think you like attention.”

Harry scoffed sharply, taking another step closer. “You think I’ve spent months chasing after someone who acts like she hates me because it’s easy?”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“No,” he snapped back immediately, “I flirt with you.”

Silence cracked heavily between you. Your pulse pounded hard enough to hurt.

Harry dragged a hand through his curls roughly, frustration officially overtaking the amusement he’d been carrying all night.

“You know what your problem is?” he started, “You never admit anything. Ever.”

You laughed harshly, closing up another box and tossing it to the side, “Because there’s nothing to admit.”

“Bullshit.”

“Harry—”

“You feel something and immediately bury it under this professional act because God forbid anyone knows you actually care about something.”

Your stomach twisted angrily.

“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me because you sing songs and smile at people for a living.”

That wasn’t fair. You didn’t even really mean it.

But his jaw tightened anyway, swallowing the words and pushing back up with whatever felt right in his chest.

“And you don’t get to act like I’m manipulating you just because you’re too stubborn to admit this thing between us has been happening for months.”

You folded your arms tighter across your chest like that could somehow hold you together.

“There is no thing.”

Harry actually stared at you for a second like he couldn’t believe you’d said it. Then he laughed once. Not amused. It was more in disbelief. Because there was really no way you could genuinely beleive that.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re just fucking cruel.”

That landed worse than the line before. You saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted, dragging across your face with so much anger that you had to swallow to keep yourself grounded.

“Cruel?” he repeated quieter.

“Yes.” Your throat felt tight now, anger bleeding messily into something worse. “You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

Harry stepped impossibly closer again. “That girl was someone my mum wanted me to meet after the show.”

You paused, tilting your head as you catch your breath from frustration.

“What?”

“She’s a family friend’s daughter,” he said sharply, “And it had absolutely nothing to do with showing off for you.”

You looked away immediately, embarrassment and anger tangling together violently in your chest in a more obvious way than you would’ve liked.

Harry noticed.

“See?” he said, “You jumped straight to assuming I was trying to hurt you.”

“You were enjoying it,” you say, rolling you eyes as his point had no relevance to you.

“Because you were jealous.”

“I was not jealous.”

“You were glaring at her like she was, like, offending you.”

“She was laughing too hard.”

A completely incredulous laugh escaped him, “Oh my God.”

“Don’t ‘oh my God’ me.”

“How do you seriously not see that you were jealous? Just admit something for once in your fucking life!”

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“You were!”

“I am not jealous of every girl you drag backstage! Just leave me alone!”

The second the words left your mouth, the room went dead silent. Harry stared at you. Your own breathing sounded too loud suddenly. Because that last part had been a mistake.

His eyes flicked slowly over your face, something shifting there.

“You mean that?”

You take a breath, settling into yourself for a moment as your hands come to rub against your temples. It was late. You were both over tired. This whole thing was just a big fucking mess that you were deep into now to get out of.

Oh, and you both were half sure the entire crew was listening outside of the door.

But that was a problem for tomorrow.

“No,” you start, “I don’t mean that. But you don’t get to stand there and act like this is all my fault.”

“I’m not saying it is.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m exhausted!”

His voice cracked louder through the room than your yelling somehow.

“I flirt with you every day. I look for you every day. I walk into rooms looking for you first every day and you act like I’m insane for noticing you feel it too.”

Your chest tightened painfully, knowing in the back of your mind that he was right.

“And then tonight,” he continued, eyes locked on yours, “you looked at me like I’d betrayed you. You can’t do that. Not after pushing me to the floor like dog shit for months.”

You swallowed hard.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Which only made you angrier.

“You don’t get to make me feel crazy for this,” you shot back.

“I’m not making you feel anything.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me!” The words ripped out louder than intended.

Harry went still at the burst, breaths racing quicker while he sat on what was next. What he should say. What he should do. If this was ruined for good and you’d be on the next flight home.

The silence afterward felt massive.

“It’s not fair, Harry,” you continue, “You don’t get to do this to me.”

Your voice was shaking now, words spilling faster the longer he stayed silent.

“You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the one making this complicated when you’ve been doing this to me for months.”

Harry didn’t say anything, and it made your chest tighten harder.

“Every day it’s something,” you went on, pacing now, unable to stay still under the weight of it. “You flirt with me, you push me, you look at me like I’m the only person in the room and then you just expect me to function like it doesn’t affect me?”

Still nothing. Your frustration snapped sharper.

“You think I don’t notice it? You think I don’t feel it?” You shot another time, voice rising again. “Because I do. I feel it every single time you look at me like that and I hate that I do. And I have a life I’m trying to protect. I built something for myself here. I worked too hard to be taken seriously to just—throw it away because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He swallowed thick at the last line, listening to your words helplessly and sinking in thoughts he can’t say. “And the worst part is I don’t even get a break from it. I have to choose. Every day. Between being good at my job and feeling whatever this is when I’m around you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his again, glossy with frustration now.

“Between my career and my happiness,” you said quieter, but more honest than anything you’d said all night. “And you just stand there like it’s nothing when it’s not nothing for me! It’s impossible and it’s—”

Harry crossed the space between you in a single step and crashed his mouth into yours, hands coming up to either side of your face, holding you there so quickly you didn’t even have time to react.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t kiss back. Just froze completely against him, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat while everything in your brain tried to catch up.

But neither of you pulled away.

And then, slowly, when it finally registered, your hands slid up to the back of his head and your lips found their way against his. You pulled him in even closer than he already was, squeezing your hands against him like you jus couldn’t get close enough.

The breath you both released at the same time broke whatever line was left between arguing and something deeper.

The kiss shifted, still urgent, still overwhelming, but no longer just interruption. It turned into something heavier, driven by months of tension finally collapsing into contact neither of you had managed to stop.

“Harry—”

“Sh,” he shut you up through smashing lips before you could even finish the thought, “just let me kiss you for a bit.”

So you did.

It didn’t take much convincing, considering his tongue was minty and warm and his nose was nudging up into your face exactly how you dreamed it might. He was strong and confident and, in the least weird way, skilled. It was like he’d already learned exactly how you want it and rolled it out of him with no effort at all.

“Just tell me to stop,” he mutters through kiss, “just tell me.”

You just nod, quick and aggressive as he pulls you in even closer and inhales you like he needs you to breathe. Your heart was slamming and your mind was dizzy, fogged in the forbidden mesh of the two of you and the stupidity behind it all.

Because really, one crack of the door and you’d be fired on the spot. It was the most insane thing for you to ever do, especially after screaming in his face for all to hear from the hallway.

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. You wanted him. You needed him. You wanted him to handle you and treat you like he’d been dreaming of—whatever that may be.

And as his tongue slid across the insides of your mouth for the thousandth time, you let your mind drift into what he might do. What he’s been begging to do. You knew he had to have something shoved up deep in sleeves, something he’d been putting off until this moment and thought of more times than he should.

His hands came tugging up at your top before you could slip too deep into that thought. The pass of the fabric through your faces broke the suction to each other for only a moment before he was crashing back down onto you, a kiss laced in so much hunger that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

And once your chest was covered in nothing but the flimsy cotton of your black bra, his hands couldn’t land. He was everywhere. Up your ribs, across your tummy, pressed into the open curve of your lower back.

The pass over your clothed breasts was long. Like he was mapping out exactly how they sat without actually breaking the kiss to look at them.

And you were only thinking one thing—just take off the bra and fucking touch me.

As if reading your mind, his hands slipped underneath the top of the cup and grasped at your smooth skin tenderly, cupping around your full breasts until his thumb found the perk of your nipples and his palm found its place underneath the curve.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “so soft.”

It was mostly to himself, like he was marking the exact moment out loud to remember forever.

Now you really were jealous.

Your hands worked desperately at his damp button up, undoing every last one like a ravenous animal until it wore him more as a jacket of sorts instead of a shirt.

You let your eyes fall.

Of course you’ve seen him shirtless before. But this was different. This was vulnerable—the flap of his butterfly on his chest, mixed in nerves and anticipation and the feeling of something new yet forbidden. The subtle sheen of his sweat bouncing off of his pecs, still not fully recovered from his show.

Then there was the hair. Littered across his chest and more importantly, trailing thick down to a screaming bulge below.

You groaned before you could stop yourself, and his smirk was deep in response before pulling you tight to his lips again.

“Harry,” you start breathlessly, still in between sloppy kisses, “I have to go soon. I have to catch the last train.”

He shakes his head immediately, “I’ll drive you back.”

You consider telling him the truth. The humiliating truth. The truth that will probably turn that growing hard on down into a sad softie that’ll never come back up.

“No really,” you murmur again, kissing him harder, “I really do have to go soon.”

He backed up this time, hands placed somewhere between your waist and your shoulders lazily.

“Why? We can stop.”

You shake your head immediately, “No, I…I don’t want to stop. I just want us to…um…hurry?”

“Y/n…” he nagged with a smile, teasing you already, “don’t break your honesty streak now.”

You shake your head, “it’s embarassing.”

“Just say it.”

You roll your eyes, sucking in a deep breath and thinking of the vaguest way to say it.

“Fine,” you huff, “my mom calls me every night at exactly 12AM. Okay?”

His eyebrow cocks upward, “that’s not embarassing.”

“Right, so, let’s just keep going?” You clear your throat, nodding a placing your hands back behind his neck as if to prepare for another kiss.

He’s still staring at you with a small smirk that you hate.

“Not so fast,” he teases, “Something in me says you’re keeping out a very important detai—”

You unclasp your bra in the middle of his sentence, letting your tits fall loose in a desperate attempt to cut off his train of thought right there.

And it works, for a second.

His eyes fall, his words come to an abrupt halt, and his mouth goes dry in a state of total holy fucking shit this can’t be real life.

“That’s not fair, y/n,” he says, but he’s still looking down at your chest, “not at all.”

You just grin, looking down at him as he gawks at the sight in front of him and lets his hands drift upwards to cup them once again. This time it was different. This time he was looking at what he had in his palms. And they were even better than how he’d dreamed of them, perky and pink and so full.

And then he’s grabbing you by your ribs, hands wide and rough, lifting you until you’re sat on top of the counter behind you, covered with equipment that was far too expensive for this behavior. But neither of you really seemed to notice, let alone care.

His lips locked around nipples before you had the time to process the shift, sucking and nagging and groping the untouched one with his other hand.

But then he was back on subject.

God damn it.

“Tell me,” he cooed, still latched to your breasts, “tell me what you’re hiding.”

You sighed at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin, naked and exposed and more vulnerable than you’ve been in awhile. More time than you’d like to admit.

“Can’t.”

He stopped his kissing and looked back up at you.

“Y/n.”

You huff, rolling your eyes and sinking into the cabinet behind you. “My dog. My mom FaceTimes me every night at 12AM so I can talk to my dog before bed. Okay?”

He pushed his lips tight together through his smile, fighting to keep it in as to not embarrass you even further. But his crinkled eyes were telling and the raise of his brows said even more.

“Oh, well that’s adorable.”

You drop your head into your hands, searching for an escape from this moment forever.

“Harryyy.”

“Ok, listen,” he lets out a loose laugh now, bringing his hands up to your cheeks until your face reveals itself again. “It’s not embarrassing. You’re cute. I’ll get you home by 12.”

You peaked your eye open a bit and let your face sink into his palms. “Yeah?”

He nods, face pulling closer to yours again already, “promise.”

And then he was back on you, splitting your lips open softly and letting his tongue fall onto yours as if it was the most natural thing to ever happen.

Suddenly you understand why this has felt impossible to ignore for so long, because kissing him feels terrifyingly right. Soft in a way you never expected from someone who spends all day teasing you, but underneath it there’s still that same intensity he always looks at you with—as he’s been holding himself back for months and finally doesn’t have to anymore.

You can feel it in the way he pulls you closer. In the way his thumbs brush once beneath your ears. In the way he kisses you like this means something. Like it’s exactly what he needed.

Exactly what both of you needed.

He’s drifting his mouth back down to your chest as slips his fingers in your waist band, and suddenly everything feels very real. Harry Styles. Famous. Like, ridiculously famous. In the middle of his tour. In an empty sound room backstage. And, more importantly, your boss.

His hands feel your nerves before your mouth could vocalize them.

“Relax,” he coos, lips resting against your bare chest, “it’s just me.”

You take a breath, shutting your eyes and desperately searching for a place of peace.

It’s Harry. Harry who’s been yearning for you for months. This isn’t a one night stand. This isn’t an unintimate fuck after the adrenaline of a show. It’s raw, it’s real. It’s just Harry.

So this time, when his fingers tug harder on your pants and your full body starts to reveal itself, you don’t feel so suffocated.

He had your pants and thong pooled down to your ankles quicker than you expected, leaving you in nothing but your skin as you stayed perched atop the cool counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered to no one, dropping slowly to his knees as his palms rested atop your knees.

You were bare in front of him, legs half spread and core dripping onto the surface beneath you. You figured it had to leave a mark. His eyes turned inward as they locked onto where he needed most, what he’s been clawing at desperately for months, right in from of him and oh so beautiful.

His hands pushed your knees further apart slowly, revealing more of yourself to him until it was all on display. And right when you started to relax, his hands left your legs and fell to in between your thighs instead.

“Shit,” he breathed, fingers coming to toy with your folds, “so pretty. Fucking perfect.”

His finger tips pressed against either side of your wet hole, and slowly spread apart from each other until you were wide and gaping in front of him. Your breath hitched somewhere deep in your chest and your mind stilled, watching his eyes as he inspected what was before him closely.

“So tight,” he hummed, spreading you open even further, “beautiful, you know that?”

You just gulped, letting a hand fall on top of his head to play with his curls mindlessly. Anything to give you something to do.

His fingers drifted higher up to your clit now, pinching at either side of the swelling bud before spreading that apart too. The ball of your sensitivity came pushing outward at the movement, throbbing in front of him while you dripped helplessly just below.

And then, with eyes glossed up towards your gaze, he stuck his tongue out, skinny and pointed, before pressing the tip onto your overly exposed clit.

Your eyes shut before you could stop them, chest panting and brows turning inward. It was the most sensitive you’ve felt in awhile, so worked up from the arguing and the teasing and the kiss that was forever too short.

“Mm,” he hummed, circling once around your clit and watching for your reaction, “tastes so good. So sweet.”

You groaned, tugging at the hair on his scalp and letting your head roll back until stopped by the wood behind you.

His lips came to suck harsh against your swollen clit, suckling at your arousal and rolling the bead in his mouth as his palms came to grasp around your hips. He was nestled into you like he needed you to breathe, groaning against the taste and pulling closer to you.

His tongue flattened as it pressed against your dripping hole, lapping up your arousal and whispering at the sweet taste on his tongue. You were wet and so fucking pink in front of him, drenched in desperation and the need for something more than just his warm tongue against you.

“Harry,” you whine, “feel so good, but—”

“I know,” he cuts through you, already knowing just what you need instead, “me too. Just give me a couple more minutes, wanna remember this.”

And who were you to deny that?

So you let him feast at you for another five or so minutes, lapping you up and swallowing you with every new drip. It was his heaven. It was what he’d been fucking his fist to for the last couple of months, the thought of you on his tongue and mixed with the melodic sounds of your moans.

“Please, Harry,” you groan, fingers tightening against every strand of his hair and thighs clamping absentmindedly around his skull.

“Hm? What do you need?”

You roll your eyes again, “Harry.”

He detached from your swollen pussy, face wet in your juice as he rose back up to level with your face. His hands land on your bare open thighs, head tilted as he catches his breath in front of you.

“Y/n,” he repeats, challenging you, “tell me what you need.”

You tug your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes glassing up at him as your chest juts outward.

“You,” you breathe, “want you to fuck me, Harry.”

His eyes fall shut as if instinct.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head dropping for a moment, “wish I could’ve fucking recorded that. Listen to it forever.”

And then his lips are back on yours, harsh this time, splitting you open as his hands gripped tight against the meat of your outer thighs.

It happened quicker than you expected—his hands working his zipper, his lips turning sloppy as he breathed heavier inside of your open mouth. And at the sound of his button popping open and his zip hitting the base, your skin chilled at the noise, adrenaline rolling through you as a fuzz rolled down your spine.

His pants shoved down to his mid thigh, boxers following suit, and before you knew it, there it was. Your boss's cock. Thick and dripping in between your open thighs.

He was…big. Bigger than you’d ever been with before, for sure. He was swollen and girthy and just crying with a slow salty drip of precum. For a second you thought, maybe a big dick comes with being a world famous sex symbol.

And in a moment of total honesty, eyes locked on his erection, “I’m kind of nervous.”

He just grins, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, before shaking his head and kissing you another time. “Don’t be. Just me.”

It settles something in you. Your smile comes beaming right as your chest softens, nodding softly at him as you try your hardest to regulate your breathing and calm the warmth on your face.

You know, to act like you weren’t about to get fucked in the sound closet while a staff of a hundred was waiting for you both.

By your boss.

And global phenomenon.

Oh, and there was a cute brunette waiting for his return in the next room.

But you’d rather focus on the less life ending matters right now.

His hand comes to hold the base of his dick, taking a step closer to your open legs as he held you propped atop the counter still. Your head was racing, eyes flicking back and forth between the nearing head of his cock and his face like you were trying to actually decide if the two were here at the same time.

And just before pressing in, breathlessly, “you’re sure?”

You nod immediately. “I’m sure. Please.”

He pushed into so slow that it ached, stretching your tight hole gently as he filled you up inch by inch. He was…a lot. Pulling you apart without even trying to and sinking in deeper than what’s ever been reached before.

Once he bottomed out and his tip was kissing some place deep in your tummy, you both let out a simultaneous “Fuck.”

His forehead dropped against yours in a sweaty mess, pulling out of you until his tip reached your folds before pushing back in with a force stronger than the one before. More certain. Like he couldn’t be more sure now. And you couldn’t either.

To say it was heavenly wasn’t even doing it justice. He was filling you up just as you liked, big and profound and pumping in and out of you with careful precision. Knocking into that spongy spot inside of you that had your vision blurry and tear ducts jamming.

“Harry,” you moan out, desperately trying to keep your voice down, “it feel so good, you feel so good.”

His thrusts deepen, “yeah? Like that?”

“Mmm,” you weren’t totally aware of any noise you were making, your mind just sort of rolled out whatever it was feeling and expressed itself in sudden waves.

He felt it. The organic nature of it all. The way you clamped around him desperately and grabbed at the skin on his back like it’d somehow be able to keep you grounded through this.

But then it got rougher. Quicker. Sharp in your belly as he slammed into you over and over and over again.

“Ah!” Your head tossed back, “fuck, shit, it’s so good, Harry, so big.”

It only spurred him on faster.

“Like my cock?” He was pumping into you so fast that your back was smacking loud agaisnt the unstable cabinets, “how big is it. Tell me how good this dick is.”

Your walls tightened again around him at his filthy ask, finger nails scratching into his skin until inflamed and bleeding at the touch.

“So big, mmm,” your whine draws through the closed space, “so good inside of me, so deep, fuck!”

He fucked you like this for awhile, stealing quick kisses from you from time to time and pulling you as close to him as you could get.

And then he scooped you up and off of the counter effortlessly, cock still buried deep inside of you, before placing your back down flat on a lower standing table in the center of the room. Covered in expensive electronics and hazardous wires that neither of you knew the importance of. Or cared.

When he started fucking into you again, it was different. You were flat against the surface, legs locked around his waist and hair sprawled around you like a halo you just grew within the last half hour. Which, you honestly felt like you did.

But his tip was deeper this time, with the new position, and crawled up into your tummy until the skin of your lower stomach was tenting in the pressure of his cock. Thrusting up into it until it pulled upwards and created a pretty indent of his shape.

You’ve never experienced a thing like it.

He grabbed a hand and placed it over the space, brows sewing together and a whimper slipping out at the feeling of his cock showing through you. It was a fantasy come true.

Your tits flowed with his rhythm, bouncing up and down, flattened like pancakes, with every thrust. Your moans followed it too, a high pitched huff falling loose every time he slammed into with that same persistence.

“God, Harry,” your hands grab onto nothing, “don’t stop, please, gonna cum soon—”

And then his phone rang. Loud, in the back pocket of his half-off pants that hung right around his knees.

Just when you thought he would stop, pull out and answer the phone, or even silence it and continue to fuck you, he didn’t. He kept his thrusts steady, reached into his pocket, and fucking answered.

“Yeah?” He called through the line, half breathless as he slammed his hips into you beneath him.

You’d never held your voice so hard in your fucking life.

There was random mumbling through the other end, a deep voice, rambling about something you couldn’t quite decipher. His head tilted backwards as he listened, the grip on his phone a little lose as he shut his eyes in pure bliss.

“That’s fine,” he starts again, “I’ll take care of it.”

All while sliding his tip out of you and pressing himself back in fully until your arousal wettened his pubic hairs. And it continued like this until your stomach was bubbling and your face was hot and scrunched into itself.

“Mm, gonna cum,” you whisper, still trying to keep yourself hidden from wherever the hell was on the phone with him for this long.

Harry just smirked, phone still pressed up against his ear, as he quickened his strokes into you again. His free thumb came to rest atop your clit, rubbing slow circles onto the sensitive bud until you throat was strained in a sad attempt to keep every noise in.

“No, not home yet,” he spoke again, “taking care of a couple things.”

He fucked you harder. Faster. As if he was challenging you to see who could keep their composure best.

But you’d already lost. You knew you had. Your legs were vibrating violently around his waist, pulsing with every new swipe at your clit and every new slam of his hips.

And the second you finally reached your orgasm, a long, drawn out moan escaped up your chest before you got the chance to silence it.

His hand smacked hard over your mouth with so much force that you shut up immediately.

But he wasn’t upset. He didn’t even look phased. He was still grinning at you, in awe of your fucked state as he pounded himself in and out of you and shut you the hell up with his wide palm.

You came hard. Stuck in the trance he’s set you in and fading into the light as he rides you through it. Your limbs were numbing, your skin stuck between a mix of hot and cold and not quite landing on just one.

He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment as the other man spoke to nothing. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Feel good?”

You hum lazily, eyes shut as a small smile crawls up to your face absentmindedly. It’d been awhile since you felt this fucked. Just laying there limp and useless and half awake.

Regardless, he wasn’t stopping.

“Mhm,” he said, back on the phone, a little too suspicious of a noise for an average discussion. “Ok. Mhm. Bye.”

“Who was tha—”

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good y/n,” he cut you off, letting his phone hang loose in his grip now as his eyes meld shut in reflex.

It was the furthest thing from calm anymore. He was slamming into you relentlessly until your tits smacked into themselves and your throat strained in purple veins and reddened skin.

“Oh my god,” you groan, cupping your own breast with a squeeze, “shit!”

“Yeah, let everyone hear you,” he spits, “just fucking scream, tell them how good your getting it.”

And you did.

There was no taming whatever was begging to come out of you. You were loud and rambling and just crying whatever filth came to mind without giving yourself a minute to process a thought.

“Shit, can’t fucking believe you,” his head dropped into itself, “gonna remember this, best pussy I’ve ever had y/n.”

You hum, loud, as you let your neck push out and your head rolls back harder onto some sort of sound board that definitely has a couple switches knocked off. His eyes were locked to the movement on your chest—the way your tits shook and belly shook and tented up with his tip.

You’re not really sure what made you think of it. Maybe the way he was staring, maybe the way he told you he wanted to remember, or maybe the way his phone was still hanging lose in his thick fingers from the call.

But you nudged your head towards his phone before you got a chance to think twice about it.

He looked down at where you gestured.

Then back at you.

Back to the phone.

And another time back at you.

Then, shakily, “…yeah?”

You nod through a bitten grin, pinching your nipples between your fingers as if to ask for that to be the focus.

Like any man who’s alive and breathing, the idea only sat with him for about a half a second before his phone was back out and the camera was faced down at you.

And then he was fucking you again, harder this time, so riled up from the devious act in the first place, as he slammed into you until his balls smacked against the bottom of your ass.

Your tits slapped into each other through the camera, clapping against themselves in the most erotic way he’d ever seen. You could see it on his face. The way his lips fell apart through broken groans and his eyes were so zoned into one place that you figured he’d forgotten about everything else surrounding.

“Harry,” you breathe out, “so good. Gonna make yourself cum to this later? Watch yourself fuck me where you shouldn’t?”

He brought his free hand to the small of your waist, gripping tight before using the grip to tug you down onto him harder. His cock was pressing so hard up into your belly that you thought it’d be bruised, so worked out from his thick cock in a way you’ve never gotten it before.

“Fuck, yes, fucking yes,” he groaned, gripping you tighter without trying, “M’so close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my tits, Harry?” You call, dramatized for his video and paired with an extra shake of your rolling breaths on top of you.

With that, he pulled out of you quick as his fist came to wrap around his length, pumping in sloppy motions with a twisted face and held breaths. His salty cum painted itself onto your tits beautifully, dripping down your smooth skin and coating itself over the peak of your nipples like it belonged there.

His head fell lazy as his breaths lengthened, grounding himself slowly through small touches and deep inhales. The video had stopped, now fallen to the edge of the table you laid on still.

“Fuck,” and then he was looking back up at you with a crooked smile, “did we just fuck?”

And, like usual, your eyes rolled as a grin curved up your mouth, “yeah. Now don’t torment me.”

He pulled out of you slowly, taking his time to not further stress your body before tugging his pants loosely back up to his waist.

“Y/n,” he starts again, grabbing a rag from the counter, “do you know you and I just had sex? You? And I? Y/n and Harry?”

“What part of don’t torment me do you not understand, hm?” You tease, sitting up on your elbows as he begins to wipe up your chest and whatever spilled to your stomach.

“But you’re cute when I torment you,” he shrugs, smirking down at you as he tosses the now dirty rag to the side.

“I don’t think I like you very much.”

His teeth show through his dimpled grin now, arms locked on the table by either side of your hips as he brings himself closer to your face.

And with a sweet kiss and a press to your forehead—

“I like you very much.”

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"They think it's cool when you do it." Rodrick sulked, and you shoved his shoulder playfully when you said, "c'mon, don't be a baby."

It was true, though—the shit you wore was even weirder than he did, you were covered in way more studs and much heavier eyeliner, and you were way more off-putting than he was. He was the one playing the drums at his band's shows downtown, but you were the one who actually enjoyed the music enough to show up every time—and still, he was the one who got made fun of. It was just cause you were hot enough to get away with it, you both knew that.

Rodrick had been positively shocked when you wanted to go out with him. He had been such a show off and a loud mouth when he was staring you down at parties and smirking and going out of his way to make sure you saw him when his band was playing. You'd watch him muttering with his friends all night, all leading up to him awkwardly half-yelling at you, "cool hair!" or something like that. You'd smile and say thank you, but he always walked away too fast to even hear it. Skittish, like a stray cat.

When he'd clumsily approached you one of those nights and stuttered through some rendition of "my friend has, like, a joint that he—y'know, rolled, that we were gonna like, smoke outside or something—just if you, like, wanted some or something." It felt like it took him a year to get through the sentence, which was starkly contrasted by the two seconds it took you to shrug and say, "sure." His jaw literally dropped.

His bandmates were just as lame as him, and you stifled a laugh as you smoked with them around the corner outside and watched Rodrick try to sneakily gesture for his friends to go inside and leave you two alone. The funny thing was that his friends didn't notice, only you did, and it didn't help that they were all gawking at you too, like they were shocked to have a girl in their midst—you were the only one there, so they definitely were. They regarded you like a damn zoo animal.

After they finally trickled off one by one after the joint was finished, it was just you and Rodrick leaning against the brick wall—you staring at him with that fuzzy, half-lidded look that was making his face bright red, and you swore you saw a halfie underneath those shredded-up jeans, but it was too dim for you to tell.

It turned out you were right, when you felt it pressed against your leg as the two of you made out clumsily. Rodrick clearly didn't know where to put his hands, he wanted to touch you everywhere all at once and couldn't decide, so they raked up the sides of your body and dug into your back and waist, your arms wrapped around his neck and holding him flush against you. When you slid your tongue against his, he let out a breathy moan into your mouth, and his eyes flew open with embarrassment. You just giggled a little bit and reattached your mouth to his. He ground his hips against yours, and your back scratched against the bricks as he shoved you up against the wall harder than he meant to.

The only time you broke the kiss was to hazily ask him where the keys to the van were. His eyebrows furrowed over barely-focused eyes when he said with near-pathetic but admirable confusion "you can't drive... you just smoked." Your face dropped into his shoulder as you giggled for a little too long at that, and your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when you whispered, "not to drive. So we can get in the back." And you felt the shiver that wracked his whole body.

In the cluttered heat of the back of his band's van, your eyes had adjusted to the darkness just in time to see the slack-jawed, wide-eyed shock on Rodrick's face when you slid the condom over his dick, and the way his head fell back immediately, groaning pathetically at your touch. From the way he tensed up and his eyes squeezed shut, you suspected he could've busted that second if he hadn't fought to keep it together.

When you were riding him relentlessly, jumping up and down on his cock like you were made for it, his head lolled back at the pleasure and he dug his chipped-black painted fingernails into the flesh of your ass. He always snapped his head back up to watch you with blown out pupils, wanting to make sure he got his fill of what you looked like. Visibly shocked, he couldn't believe you were doing this—neither could you, to be honest. You wanted him, obviously, practically drooled over his band tees and eyeliner, but you were never this forward. Must've been something in the air.

He apologized profusely when he came with a long, drawn-out moan before you'd had a chance to finish, his face bright red again and ashamed. You'd only leaned down to kiss him, catching him off-guard.

Your hand fumbled around as you searched for his phone so you could finally type your number into it, but before you could, a BANG BANG BANG rang out as someone slammed their fist against the side of the van—one of his bandmates. Your eyes flicked to Rodrick and down at the compromising position, him still buried inside of you and his jeans bunched around his knees, your skirt hiked up, and you both stifled laughter as you scrambled to get your clothes back in order.

You swore you heard him mumble between the clinking of his studded belt and your bracelets "no one's gonna believe me," and you snorted.

To what? 

Well... it wasn't that hard to put two and two together, was it? 

Kimi, the sweet little golden boy of Formula One, was an incorrigible man.  

No one knew him for what he really was. Or how he was.  

Every free day, every free second he had. His driver's room, the bathroom, the kitchen counter, the balcony, the car, under the table...  whether it was shorts, jeans, a skirt, or a dress you wore... his head was between your legs all the goddamn time.  

It was 'only because of you' as he innocently claimed. A poor attempt at defence and shifting the blame. Like it was your fucking fault. Like you were the one who made him crazy. Like you were luring him in.  

You swore to God you weren't. 

Addiction wasn't even the right word for it.  

Fuck, you had no idea what was.  

Obsession? Dependency? Compulsion? 

Devotion. 

You had tried to intervene time and time again. Wearing the tightest jeans possible only for those beautiful fingers to hook them down, leaving a gentle burn against your skin in his trail. Pantyhose under the dresses and skirts? Apparently, they were pretty easy to rip into. 'Non-breakable' your fucking ass. You should’ve sued them for false advertisement. 

You had even gone as far as blocking your schedule with the most insignificant events to get a little breather. But that inconsolable little shit always found you.  

But the shameful truth rested with you, tucked away in your heart. Because you and Kimi both knew it—you loved it.  

You loved his nose. You loved his mouth. And you loved that goddamn tongue.  

That was your problem. That stupid tongue. It was always out. When Kimi needed to focus on something. When he needed to pose for a picture. In interviews. When he listened. When he talked.  

It was always there. Teasing. Waiting. Reminding you of what was to come. What could make you cum.  

Just like he was doing now. Standing a couple metres away from you in the garage as you talked to Carmen and he entertained George and Toto, built arms folded and chocolate brown eyes flickering to you for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, tongue peeking out of his mouth. 

"Is Kimi okay?" Carmen suddenly queried, making your throat dry as you snapped your eyes to her.  

The heat almost instantly grew in your cheeks. "W-What do you mean?" You stuttered, fingers already fidgeting. No way... there was no way... 

"He hasn't stopped looking our way, or your way, since you got here. Did you guys fight or something?" She asked, turning her head to you while she raised a brow.  

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "No, no. We didn't fight," you laughed nervously. You were definitely about to get into one by the sheer smirk settled on his face. "Um... I think he just wants to go home," you reasoned poorly. 

Carmen hummed, nodding in understanding. "George gets like that too. It's okay. Just a few more minutes." 

You gave her a tight smile and nodded. Sure. You were certain George was nothing like Kimi. Because the gleam in his eye told you that you would either barely make it to the car or make it to the hotel room. Or worse... somewhere else.  

Kimi vaguely listened to his boss talk, too preoccupied with the way you stood metres away from him in those jeans. God, those jeans. Clinging to you like they had specifically been made for you. You had no business looking this good all the goddamn time.  

His lips quirked at the discreet press of your thighs together, making his eyes flicker up to your face, spotting the narrowed gaze of annoyance from miles away.  

You always did that. Played the innocent, miffed girl. Like he was an inconvenience. But at the end of the day, it was always you screaming his name just the way he liked it, hips and legs shaking around him.  

You loved it as much as he did.  

The minutes had indeed passed by. Kimi's hand hung low over your waist as you both walked towards his car alongside Carmen and George. The conversation between you both was minimal. You could see the cogs in your boyfriend's brain turning, tongue peeking out of his mouth as his eyes flitted across the bare parking lot, observing the settling sun as the couple filled the air.  

"Okay," Carmen started, small yawn falling from her mouth, eliciting an amused smile from George. "I'm ready to go. You guys text me when you reach the hotel, yeah?" 

You smiled quietly, giving her a small nod. Would you even reach the hotel? "Of course," you assured, giving Kimi a nudge to not leave you hanging.  

He pressed his grin down, arm moving to grab George's hand for a brief shake. "Drive safe, mate." 

George nodded, giving the both of you a wave as they both headed towards their car, leaving the both of you alone for a moment.  

Kimi unlocked the car with the quick press of a button, opening the passenger door for you. He watched you eye him suspiciously as you propped yourself into the car. Closing the door gently, his footsteps were light and fast towards the other side of the vehicle.  

You sat in the passenger seat, all buckled. You took note of how Kimi made no effort to do the same as he sat down. Nor did he start the engine. Instead, his eyes move to the rear mirror. He waited. He watched. He listened.  

For the sound of George's car turning on. For the movement of those tyres to peel out of the parking lot. For him to leave. 

Somehow, you were waiting too. Carefully watching the taillights of George's car which had barely left the parking lot before Kimi was reaching over to undo your seatbelt. A sigh immediately left your mouth. "Kimi! Someone is going to catch us," you hissed, knowing damn well the churn in your stomach made all your excuses futile.  

"We're the last ones here," he retorted, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans after unbuttoning them with ease. His tugs of the thick fabric are short and harsh as his lips fell to your neck; sinful tongue pressed against your burning skin.

Any other reprimand you had lined up had died in your throat, replaced by the curled gasps your lips had wrapped around. Your hips betrayed your mind, naturally lifting as he pulled your jeans down to your shoes, leaving his hands to roam your bare thighs.  

His words were muffled and heaved. "Been waiting for this all day," he groaned, placing a messy kiss on your lips, savouring the taste of your lip balm briefly.  

If you were in the right mind, you would've given him a blank look. He made it sound like you had starved him. Like he hadn't just made you see stars in the morning either.  

But you weren't. You could barely think with his lips and hands on you. Kimi always seemed to have that effect on you. Even with the ebbs of orange sun settling away through the car windows, reminding you where you were... you couldn’t be ashamed of the heat unfurling in your stomach.  

Kimi didn't take long to remove the barrier between him and all he wanted, making you draw a sharp breath as the cold air hit your pulsing cunt. His fingers pressed into your thighs, keeping them apart. A deep moan, unrestrained and reverent, fell from his lips. "My pretty, pretty girl," he praised.  

He wasn't talking to you. Not exactly.  

He smiled at the obvious clench of your pussy. A mirthful chuckle swirled deep from his chest. “Yeah... you missed me, didn't you, baby?" 

Your cheeks flamed at the treachery of your body. As if it couldn't get any worse, a yelp escaped your lips as Kimi grabbed your legs, hooking one up against headrest and the other on the dashboard, pants, underwear, and shoes long gone. Everything about it was smooth... natural because he had done it a million times.  

Kimi pulled his shirt off and leaned over the console, pupils dilated as he stared at the glistening mess right in front of him, heart hammering in his chest. Every fold primed with your slick, dripping out slowly.  

You complained here and there. He had heard them all. "We're in public, Kimi," or "I'm trying to go to sleep, Kimi." All of them baseless and weak.  

You just didn't get it. You hadn't tasted yourself like he had tasted you. Because if you had, you would understand why he couldn't stop.  

Your head pressed harshly into the car window behind you. Fuck, it was awkward. It hurt. But nothing else mattered when Kimi's mouth attached itself onto your cunt. The wicked tongue flat against you, lapping up the disloyal arousal pouring out of you. He always knew how to use it well. Matching every curve to every crevice. Every flick and lick.  

You squirmed against his face, hand inevitably reaching out to fist those beautiful brown curls. A strained cry escaped your throat as you pressed him further into you, feeing his groan vibrate through your body while his nose knocked against your clit.  

"Fuckkkk," you whimpered, gasping for air already while you watched him. 

His smirk was like a ghost imbedded into your cunt. Brief but present before he continued to drink you. You're sweet. Additively so. Sharp in a way that made him shudder. So homely it made him want to never pull away.  

Your breath caught as his tongue moved to your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking firmly. With your brows mending, you writhed, feeling his grip on your ankles tighten. "Kimi," you gasped, eyes shutting intermittently.  

He chuckled, barely taking a breath, lips coated and shining as he spoke. "You always act so annoyed," he stated, tone mocking. "But you're the one acting like this, belle. Hips moving for more. Tell me, baby. You love it, don't you?" 

The pleasure rippled through you as you felt his teeth graze your clit, brown eyes staring at you expectantly, smug smirk carved into his face. You heaved, sweat littering your skin. You waited. He waited. The air thick as the game begun.  

You could see it in his eyes. The thinning patience. Like a dog who had been told no. Except it was him doing it to himself. Waiting… standing by for your admission. For a greenlight.  

You weren't sure what was. The pulse of your core. His desperation. Or the bold truth that had slapped you right in the face.  

"Yes, Kimi. I love it." 

And that's all Kimi wanted. All he needed before he put his tongue back on you and sucked and prodded every crevice in his vicinity. His chest warmed at the burn of his scalp as your fingers tugged at his curls. The way the heels of your feet dug into his bare shoulders. Everything about you bringing him closer and closer.  

"Fuck, yes, Kimi," you cried out, hips rolling up against his tongue, making him hum between your puffy folds.  

Kimi couldn't stop. Like his fingers had been glued to your ankles while the wetness seeped from your pussy. You just tasted so good. It made him whine. Whine while his tongue flattened over you, slurping all the juices before they could escape.  

"Kimi, Kimi," you breathed harshly, pit of your stomach churning. Fuck, you weren't lasting. 

He said nothing, continuing his masterful artwork as his tongue travelled across the bulb and shaft of your clit with ease, bringing the burning flash right to the edge. 

And just like that, you came undone. Your hips shook against his face, juices running down your thighs and to your ass while the pleasure crashed over you, leaving you seeing white as your sob ripped through the empty air of his car.  

Kimi, the sly bastard, he didn't stop. He said he couldn't. Mouth still latched to your cunt, sucking you so good, letting you ruin his ability to breathe by stuffing his nose in you. God, he could die in this perfect cunt. It was decided. 

Your hips thrashed against his face, senses entirely overwhelmed with the tingles of pleasure and pain blending together like a good burn. "Kimi, come on," you mewled, eyes glossing over with tears, body torn with the second wave of pleasure building up.  

And yet, he apologised.  

"I'm so sorry, baby," he grunted, voice muffled while he dug his face deeper, making you choke on the air. "So fucking sorry. I love this. I love you so much. I can't stop," he moaned, just capturing a glimpse of your teary eyes. Oh how beautiful, you were.  

In seconds you were unravelling again, tears escaping your eyes as your thighs clamped down around his legs hard. Your gasps and sobs stuttered, music to his ears while dots threatened your vision and body spasmed hard.  

Kimi groaned with delight, licking you clean with every swallow. His breath warm and tainted with the taste of you washed over your cunt as he reluctantly pulled away, chest heaving. Bringing your ankles down so you could rest more comfortably, he watched you come down gently. His large hands rubbed the top of your thighs soothingly before he leaned forward and kissed you deeply.  

You softly hummed, feeling Kimi's forehead rest on yours as he pulled back just a smidge, thumb wiping your stained cheek.  

"Too much?" He queried quietly, resting his face on your bare knees, dismissive of the way the console dug into his side.  

You rolled your eyes, tapping his temple as he stared at you warmly. "You and I both know that wasn't your worse," you muttered, eliciting a cheeky grin on his face.   

You could still remember those days. Days where your brain had fought between pushing Kimi off and begging for more. Those days were Kimi couldn’t pull away, leaving you both in tears, apologies on the tip of his tongue as he ate you out.  

You shivered at the memories, goosebumps littering your skin.   

"If you were me, you'd understand,” Kimi mumbled, fingers trailing over your skin in odd circles. "If you were me, you wouldn't stop either." 

You pursed your lips, looking at him quietly, chest aching at his words. "Maybe," you whispered, hand moving through his curls.  

In some weird way, you understood.  

You understood it in the way you teased and complained.  

You understood it in the way you always wanted more. 

You understood it in the way you never asked him to stop.  

Whatever souls were made of, his and you were the same. Equally in love. Both equally fucked up. And you were perfectly okay with that. 

lando has his forehead against the cold taxi window, watching monaco slide past outside in a haze of orange light, thinking about nothing in particular except that he's nearly home.

three weeks. austin, then mexico city, then são paulo, back to back to back, a stretch of paddocks and airport lounges that wrung him dry. it’s been weeks since he’s had you in his arms. he’s had the curve of your spine and the smell of your hair on his mind for the entire length of the triple-header. he’d thought about calling last night, but hadn’t, worried you’d hear how sad he was and start crying too. he’d told the team he was flying back in the morning, but the idea of one more night on a starched hotel pillow, the silence of not-you, made him punch in a last-minute booking and wedge himself into a seat on the earliest possible plane.

it's not complicated. he just missed you.

theres a neurochemical whiplash to the change—from track adrenaline to the slurred, irritable exhaustion of a long haul, from the humidity and heat of brasil to the crispness of the monegasque night. he imagines you, tucking yourself into bed, sleepy. the way you’ll probably cry when you see him because you get emotional when you’re exhausted. the thing about loving someone who tires easily is that you start to get addicted to the way they sag into you. the trust in it, the vulnerbaility. lando is thinking about this as the taxi pulls up in front of the apartment building. he drags his duffel out, thanks the driver in mushy french,then keys himself into the lobby. the lift takes forever. he stands in it with his bag and the pervading stench of airplane and his bajillion unread messages from jon, watcing the floor numbers go up.

he opens the door with a metallic snick, careful and quiet in case you’re asleep. the first thing that hits him is the warmth, so different from the chill outside, and saturated with the scent of your perfume. you must have cooked something earlier, he thinks, something rich and garlicky. he kicks off his shoes, toeing them neatly by the door. he can hear sound from the tv in the living room, light from the screen flickering out into the dimly lit room. he leaves his bag by the door. he'll deal with it later.

and there you are, in the living room, curled on the couch. your cheek is smushed into the leather and your lips are parted, a tiny gloss of drool pooling at the edge of your mouth.

the blanket is half off, exposing your bare thigh. your hair is a wreck, mussed and waterfalling over your face. his throat tightens. he’s not sure what it is—maybe the picture you make, all sweet and oblivious, or maybe the memory of how empty the hotel beds felt these last weeks—but it does something to him.

there’s something in him—a failure of emotional maturity, probably, or maybe just a hole in his own childhood—that has always wanted to keep something soft alive, to have something that needs him. he thinks of you as a baby bird, or sometimes a puppy, all twitchy and sweet and trusting. it’s not meant to be an insult. you’re smarter than him, probably. but you’re still so easily tired by the world, so obviously in need of shelter. he sometimes has this weird need to build a house around you and stand outside all night, knife in hand, just in case.

he kneels by the sofa, reaching out to brush stray locks off your cheek. you don’t stir. he wonders if he can get away with watching you like this forever, but theres this greedy, selfish urge clawing at him. he missed you. he needs you to wake up. he drags his knuckles along your jaw, the softest nudge. you make a small noise, nose twitching, and your eyelids flutter. he strokes your face again, more deliberate. “hey, sleepyhead.”

your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bright. you blink slow, like your brain is still rebooting. it’s disgustingly cute.

“‘lando?” your voice is raspy, a little confused.

“hi, sweetheart,” he whispers back, smiling, “didn’t mean to wake you.” lie.

you stare at him, foggy, and your mouth curls into a half-smile, sleepy and dopey. “you’re not supposed to be home,” you say, like you’re accusing him of something horrible.

“missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t try to hide the way his voice breaks. 

you try to sit up, but your limbs are noodles, and you just flop over sideways. he pulls you into his arms instead. you come down easy, melting against him like you want to crawl under his skin. you burrow your head into his armpit, so pliant and so warm that he feels like he could hold you forever.

“i missed you more,” you mumble into his skin. at least that’s what he thinks you say, your words are barely intelligible and slurred with sleep.

he lifts your chin with a finger and looks at you properly. your eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, and your lips are parted, soft and lush. you look like you’ve just been fucked into oblivion, not like you’ve been napping. he grins, a little wolfish, and you catch it, your eyebrows lifting, “whuh?”. 

“you’re just…” he shakes his head, can’t find the right word. “sweet.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s slow, like your brain is wading through syrup. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and tucks your head back against his shoulder. the clock on the wall ticks to 12.

“you should get to bed,” he whispers, but you only whine, a wordless sound that means you want to stay right here, in his lap.

“i’ll carry you,” he offers, only half-joking, because all he wants is you in his arms, but your answering noise is so eager, he can’t help but smile.

“‘kay,” you say, and he hooks an arm under your knees and another around your back and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you just cling, face buried in his neck, hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. he can feel your smile againt his skin.

he deposits you on the bed, pulling the duvet over you. your hand shoots out for him when he moves away.

“stay,” you whisper.

“i have to shower, sweetheart. i’m disgusting.”

“don’t care,” you slur. “wanna smell you.”

something in his chest squeezes. “5 minutes, yeah?”

you make a vague sound, somewhere between a yes and a snore. 

he showers fast, rinsing the smell of recycled air off him. when he comes back, you’re still in exactly the same position, sweet, defencdeless, and completely his. he crawls into bed next to you, pulling your back against hsi chest. you make a pleased sound.

“i love you,” he breathes into your hair, and he’s never meant anything more in his life. 

he wants to tell you more, everything. how lonely it is in those hotel rooms, how the world feels sharper and meaner when you’re not with him, how the thing he wants most isn’t the win or the champagne or the cameras but this: you, drooling on him, arms around him, so tired you can barely keep your eyes open but still greedy for his touch. how he could have all of the podiums and the trophies in the world, and how it’d still mean nothing without you.

but he knows you’re about to fall asleep again—he can feel your breath evening out, your muscles going slack—so instead he swallows the emotion down.

he kisses the crown of your head, then your temple, then your lips. you smile in your sleep, making a little blissed-out noise, and lando thinks: if this is what the rest of my life is, i’ll never need anything else.

꩜

lando wakes to sunlight spilling through the blinds. your arm is splayed over his chest, your hand has curled loose around his bicep. there’s a damp spot on his chest where you must have drooled, which makes him smile.

he’s always felt a little sick with how much he loves you. it gnaws at his insides, the affection. sometimes he thinks about you as a child—photos of you with fat cheeks and scraped knees, the stories you tell about getting locked out of the house by your older brother. he gets obsessed with the idea of having known you then. he wants to peel back the years and wrap his arms around every version of you, keep you safe and soft and protected, make sure nothing ever bruises you except the things he can kiss better.

he moves a fraction, and you grunt in protest, wiggling closer back into him. there’s something almost perverse about how easily you fold into him, no friction at all, only this puddling collapse. its like your bones have liquefied in the night. an hour ticks by and evebtually, you shift, eyelids fluttering. 

“lando,” you mumble, and then, “lando, don’t let me go.”

he squeezes you and you nestle in. you’ve always been the coldest human alive, and in winter you use him like a hot water bottle. he lets you, likes it even, how you shove your iceblock feet between his legs. 

eventually, you begin to stir. it starts with a hand at his waist, searching for him under the sheets. he rolls you to face him, and you blink up at him, dazed in the blue morning light. your hair’s a disaster, and your face is creased from the pillow. he wants to bite you, a little, just to see what you’d do.

you reach for him again, pulling his arm across your chest so his hand lands on your tits. you sigh, content, and it’s so obvious what you want that he has to laugh.

“missed me that much, huh?” he teases, but you don’t rise to the bait. you just push your tits into his palm and shiver, like you’re cold, like you can’t get enough of him. he obliges, thumb brushing over your nipple until it’s hard and you’re making those tiny whimpering sounds he loves.

“lando,” you whisper, drawn out and needy. he’s been waiting weeks to hear you like this.

he kisses you, slow and deep, licks into your mouth until you go slack. you melt, your body going boneless under his touch. he takes his time, kissing you like you’re oxygen. your tongue is lazy, letting him do what he wants, and he does—tilting your head, biting your lip, sucking your tongue until you moan into his mouth.

you whine when he pulls away, hands chasing him in effort to keep him close. he loves that—loves how you go floaty and dumb for him, how your only thought is how to get him closer.

he kisses your jaw, your throat, then slides down to lift your top, taking your nipple in his mouth. you arch, pulling him closer.

“greedy,” he laughs, low in his chest, and you only nod, lost to the sensation. he traces down your ribs, his hand spanning your waist, thumbs hooking into the band of your shorts. you buck up, hips chasing his touch, and he’s so hard it almost hurts, his cock pressed against your thigh.

“you want me?” he murmurs, and he’s a little mean about it because you always say yes, but this time you’re so gone you can’t even speak. you just nod, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth open, panting. he slides his hand down, cups your pussy over the fabric, and you whimper. he can feel the heat leaking through cotton.

“so wet, baby,” he coos, smug, and rubs slow circles through your shorts until you’re grinding desperate against his hand. he wants to see you, wants to fuck you until you can’t walk, but more than anything he wants you to just let go, let him do everything for you. 

he slides his palms under the fabric and squeezes your ass. you grind down, making his cock twitch.

“jesus, you’re needy,” he murmurs, almost reverent.

you only make a broken, whimpery sound. he flips you, easy as tossing a pillow, and you let yourself be manhandled. he wants to laugh again, at how much you love being small, how much you love being handled, but it would ruin the spell. your eyes flutter shut, maybe with exhaustion, maybe with pleasure.

“you awake?” lando asks softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.

“’m awake,” you slur, your expression caught between bliss and confusion. “missed you so much.”

“did you now?” he traces the line of your jaw with his tongue, nipping at your earlobe.

“mm. missed you. missed your cock,” you mumble, almost too quiet to hear.

he freezes, then pulls back to look at you. you’re blushing, but smiling, all the same.

“greedy,” he tuts, but the word is thick with lust.

“please?” you manage, and the word is so pathetic, so honest, he has no choice but to oblige you. 

he peels your shorts down, and you try to help, barely, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide them off. your cunt is glistening, wet and puffy. he touches you gently, running his fingers over your clit, and you choke out a moan, clutching at his arm.

he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ve got you, sweetheart. just relax.”

“inside?” you look up at him, eyes wide and trusting. “lando, inside, please?”

and fuck, that voice. what else can he do but give you what you are so sweetly begging him for?

he peels off his boxers and lines himself up, presing the head of his cock against you and pushing in slow, savouring every inch of it. you gasp, back arching, hands grabbing for his arms, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself. 

“okay?” he asks, even though you’re already nodding, already grinding back onto him.

“feel so good,” your voice is slow, like you can’t concentrate on all the sensations at once.

he pulls out, thrusts back in, slow and shallow, and watches you come apart under him. you keep making these soft, kittenish sounds, keep scratching shallow lines down his back. he wants to fuck you harder, wants to pin you down and make you scream, but he knows that’s not what you need.

“pretty girl,” he praises, “you’re so fucking pretty. my good girl.”

“please,” you breathe. you’re almost crying, you don’t even know what you’re begging for. 

he leans down, mouth at your ear, “you can cum, sweetheart. want you to.”

you do, eyes screwed shut and panting, cunt fluttering around his cock. then you melt, arms falling away. you blink up at him, dazed and grateful, a tiny smile pulling at your lips.

“’s good,” you mumble, then yawn, already half-asleep again.

he’s hasn’t finished, but he doesn’t care. he stays inside, just holding you, more for you than to chase his own pleasure. he thinks about just thrusting back inside you so he can cum—it’d be so quick, so easy—but looking at you, sated and sleepy, he knows he can't ruin that.

you whimper when he tries to pull out, arms and legs locking around him, trapping him inside.

“okay,” he laughs, breathless, so full of love he could burst, “okay, baby. i’ll stay.”

you sigh, content, and in minutes you’re asleep again, still clutching him. he stays inside you, uncomfortably hard, the heat of your cunt making his head swim, but he’s never been so happy.

he’s stuck there, buried in you, and it feels like the only place in the world he’s supposed to be. the room is warm and light, and lando thinks he might die here, in this bed, in this moment, and be happy forever.

.✦ ݁˖ date ──── Apr. 11, 2026

.✦ ݁˖ a/n ──── Enjoy this quickie while I’m in the corner, severing ties with my writing demon, because my drafts are filled with unfinished business. Booo writer’s block 😠👎🏻

“STAY,” SAYS LANDO in a sleepy voice, tightening his arm around her waist.

The morning light filters through the gauzy curtains in soft beige tones, bathing the bedroom in a warm glow that feels like a gentle embrace from the sun itself. It’s the second raceless weekend in a row, which means no cameras, engines or schedules pulling them from the quiet of their bed.

They lie together under a rumpled blanket, naked bodies pressing close to each other, their skin still carrying the faint musk of last night’s sweat. The material is smooth to the touch, worn cotton textured like chicken fluff that is heavy enough to trap the heat between them but light enough to let the morning air tease at the edges of it.

“Let go,” she insists, copying the same tone, “I wanna shower.”

Lando’s eyes flutter open to find her face inches from his. They are as clear as an untouched lake in the light of day, giving him a look far too angelic for the thoughts that are running through his mind right now. His curls framing his face like a halo and his lazy smile add to the same narrative, but she knows better than to fall for it.

Well, again. Once was enough, and now she’s here, heart bursting with joy every time she catches sight of the small dimples on his cheeks.

Her hair fans across the pillow like snakes, a few strands catching on his stubbled jaw as he shifts. Judging by the way she looks at him, Lando has a pretty good idea of what she might be thinking, and he’s ready to bet that he is the focal point of that thought, so he mumbles something incoherent and she responds with a small whine, her lips parting to let out a chuckle. Which is the perfect opportunity for him to seal his mouth to hers in a lazy kiss.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped from the dry air in the hotels he’s been living in, brushing over hers with tenderness. The girl shighs into him, her breath still holding a faded taste of mint from the toothpaste they shared before collapsing into bed. It does not take long before he deepens it, wanting more — so much more, always —, their heartbeats syncing in a buzz that echoes through their ribcages.

Blindly yet knowing its way around, her hand slides up his back, fingers digging into the firm muscles there, feeling a subtle flex while he tries to bring her closer, as if there’s still physical space left between them that he hasn’t covered. Because of that, the blanket shifts with their movement, the fabric rasping against their skin and making a sound similar to the ocean waves before a storm. Her breasts press more insistent to his chest as a result, nipples hardening against his pecs.

Lando’s hair is slightly damp from sweat-dried sleep, the smell of his shampoo blending deliciously with his natural scent while it tickles her forehead as he angles his head to get a better taste. He whimpers silently when her teeth graze his lower lip instead of giving him a verbal warning, a needy sound that travels straight into her mouth, forcing her to echo it with a whine of her own.

“Mmmh, you’re so warm,” he breathes against her lips, letting the words slip in between nips and sucks without breaking the kiss.

She hums in agreement just as their tongues tangle intimately, exploring with a heated slowness that makes her pulse race faster and cause her thighs to squeeze together under the blanket. Feeling her intention, Lando’s hand starts roaming her side, palm tracing the curve of her hip with a patience that sends shivers across her skin and leaves goosebumps behind.

The kiss intensifies with each passing second, inhales and exhales coming faster, whimpers punctuating the wet sounds of their mouths. Her heart hammers in her ears like a drum, and she feels his matching it, strong beneath her palm on his chest. It sends her crying softly when he pulls back to nip at her jaw, then returns to devour her lips, the eagerness building like a slow-burning fire.

Entranced by her wordless responses, Lando’s free hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the blanket to trail down her stomach. Sure of what he’s about to find, his long fingers part her thighs gently, seeking the warmth between her legs. He doesn’t need to think, just circles her entrance with a featherlight touch, then slides one finger inside, intending to coax her completely awake with pleasure. But she winces instead, an unexpected hiss escaping through her lips as pain flares around the area.

Lando freezes, his eyes snapping fully open. Any trace of sleep vanishes in an instant and he withdraws his hand immediately, concern painting subtle lines across his brow as he pulls back in order to search her face.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice stays low but it’s noticeably urgent, the same hand now resting protetively on her thigh. “Did that hurt? Did I hurt you?”

She bites her lip at the same time her body is slowly coming down from the interrupted intimacy. “No, I…” she trails off, trying to catch her breath, “I must be a little sore, that’s it,” the girl admits, her voice soaked in lingering need. “From last night,” she explains.

“Oh,” he nods, wetting his lower lip.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

Lando’s expression softens, the sudden tension easing from his shoulders. He leans in to place a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her temple, his lips brushing with care everywhere they touch her skin. The blanket settles around them in a comforting weight once he gathers her closer without putting unnecessary pressure, now that he’s aware of the damage he’s done.

“I’m sorry,” although his voice is tender, there’s a small trace of pride underneath that she cannot miss. “I should’ve been more careful.”

The girl shakes her head, hand finding his on her thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “No, baby, you were fine,” she says before correcting herself, “So, so good, actually. Amazingly good.”

He smiles, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Can’t argue with that, if you can feel me hours later… but I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”

“Alright, don’t sound so smug about it,” she rolls her eyes, making him smile even wider.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“And the look on your face says just that, liar.”

“Let me make it up to you then, hm?” suggests Lando, pressing his lips back on her temple. His voice drops to an intimate whisper, eyes searching hers for permission the moment he turns to look at her again. “Soft and slow, whatever you need.”

“There’s no need to. I’ll be fine after a warm bath,” she insists, but Lando can easily notice a hint of reluctance in her eyes; the same eyes he knows so well when they are filled with desire but too proud to ask for more.

Lando’s gaze holds hers for a fraction too long, managing to reveal her honesty with a knowing smile.

“But I want to,” he assures her. “Please?”

Before she can protest any further, Lando dips his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, his facial hair scraping lightly against her sensitive skin in ways that seem to be sprinkling fireworks in its wake.

The morning light continues its lazy dance across the room, highlighting the shine of his broad shoulders as he moves lower, then lower. His lips trail between her breasts, lingering on the swell of each, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her. She arches slightly, fingers threading into his curls to hold him there for a while as she breaths in, just to enjoy the feel of his mouth. One inhale later, Lando continues kissing down her stomach, smiling at the faint tremor in her muscles and the way her abdomen contracts under his touch; he is absolutely sure that even if he were blind, he’d still be able to read her.

Her scent grows stronger as he descends, an intimate reminder of their night’s… excesses. Firmly, he pauses at her hips, hands sliding to each side of her body, grabbing her thighs and, with gentle pressure, Lando spreads her legs wider, settling between them on his knees. What awaits him there is just the proof of both his skill and her lust: her folds flushed a deep, rosy shade, swollen and tender from the hours of relentless thrusting and grinding that had left her spent. The skin around her entrance bears faint marks of friction, a subtle bruising that speaks to how thoroughtly he’s had her, stretching her limits until dawn.

He parts her with his fingers, carefully watching as her core pulses in a rhythmic throb that imitates her heartbeat, slick with arousal despite the soreness. She’s so wet, contrary to what she’s just affirmed, the evidence glistening in the sunlight, even as her body protests the ache.

Leaning in, Lando’s breath fans over her pussy in tiny breezes, then he blows against it but he doesn’t dive in yet. He knows her curves like the corners of his favorite circuit, and is painfully aware of what her body needs. Taking his time with her is the best strategy here, drawing out the anticipation to amplify everything that follows. He wants her orgasm to crash over her like waves against the cliffs, powerful and all-consuming, devastating even, turning her into someone desperate for the release only he can give.

A fix that hits every nerve.

At once.

So he starts slow, agonizingly so, lips brushing the crease where her thigh meets her hip, kissing the tender skin there with tiny presses. He nips careful at the flesh, then soothes with his tongue, tracing small circles that make her hips twitch involuntarily, even though he’s not nearly close to where she wants him.

“Come on, Lando,” she squirms beneath him, a pronounced whine escaping her throat.

He ignores the sound for now, focusing on the subtler cues: the way she tenses, her thighs seeking to clamp around his head, and how her fingers are blindly searching to fist the sheets. Lando’s mouth wanders higher then, kissing the crease just outside her folds, so close that she can feel the heat of his breath on her clit but not the contact she craves. He returns to her inner thighs after that, sucking lightly until her skin blooms pink, marking her with affection rather than the usual possession.

The room fills quickly with the quiet sounds of his devotion — wet smack of kisses, her deepening breaths and the rustle of the blanket as she starts stirring impatiently. Lando has to hold her down with both hands, his thumbs stroking soothing patterns on the undersides of her thighs, anchoring her to him as he keeps teasing; he knows the delay winds her higher, turning every touch that will follow into the most delicious experience that no god could ever offer.

Finally, when her body arches off the bed, he goes in. He sticks his tongue out, wide and relaxed in order to flatten it against her from entrance to clit in one long lick, covering as much of her as possible. Her texture is velvet-soft under him, swollen and as responsive as always, her wettness coating his taste buds with a tangy sweetness that makes Lando hum in approval.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, legs quivering as they keep trying to close, but he keeps them parted, repeating the same motion in broad strokes that lap at her pussy without hurry, making sure to stimulate every inch of it.

After the initial shock, his tongue explores the outer lips, tracing the edges before delving inward to gather her essence with skillful swipes. He feels her pulse against his mouth, a deep throb quickening, her body opening to him like a flower in the sun the moment his lips seal around the most sensitive spot to suckle gently, drawing out more of her slickness.

“Right there, fuck…” she cries out, hips bucking subtly as her whines turn to breathy pleas.

He appreciates her guidance, but Lando tunes into her physical feedback instead. The flutter of her inner walls is everything he needs in order to adjust himself when he nears her clit, and the way her toes curl once pleasure spikes supports his assumptions. He zeros in there, mouth hovering before applying a steady suction directly to the swollen nub, pulling it between his lips with enough pressure to make stars burst behind her eyelids. Her back bows once more, and he releases her from his mouth slowly, tongue sliding up and down the peak with a flat press before building again.

Rinse and repeat: suck, hold, release, lick, each cycle pushing her closer to the sweet edge.

In her ecstatic state, she thinks that Lando has never eaten her out this good before, but it’s because he knows her too well, and this time around is supposed to feel different. The man who’s taken her apart with rough hands and relentless thrusts is now piecing her back together with gentleness. His fingers join occasionally, not penetrating but circling her hole, dipping just the tip inside to feel her clench before withdrawing, all while his mouth keeps soothing her in the most sweet-agonizing-hot-euphoric-tears-inducing way.

The soreness fades under his undivided attention, transmuted into molten heat, her insides pulsing with need and not the same pain from earlier.

“Please,” she inhales sharply, fingers twisting in his hair. “Need it… harder. Suck it harder,” sweat beads on her skin as she guids his head more into her.

Lando’s own arousal stirs, his cock hardening against the mattress. “That’s good, baby,” he pulls back for a breath of air, enough to whisper hotly, “Grind on my tongue like that. Show me how you need it.”

He resumes the same rhythm the moment she moans again, tongue delving deeper this time, lapping at her slit where her arousal pools thicker every time he goes back for more. He savors the way she surrenders to him, all the discomfort melting into liquid heat inside his mouth. Each wide stroke covers her entirely, from the tender outer edges to the slick channel as he works his jaw to coax the pleasure out of her.

Her breaths come in pants by now, the walls of their bedroom echoing with wet sounds and a lot of sobs.

“The fucking mouth on you, baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she begs, hands grabbing fistfuls of his curls to keep him between her legs while, in the meantime, her thighs lose their stability around his shoulders.

Lando obeys without second thought, nose brushing her clit every time his tongue thrusts shallowly inside her, curling to tease her sensitive spots. The pressure becomes too much in a blink of an eye and, soon, her hips begin to shake instinctively to chase the friction, grinding against his face in desperate rhythm.

Feeling her impatience, a smile curves Lando’s mouth, the smug expression buried between her legs but felt in the way his cheeks dimple against her clit. At that, he sucks harder, tongue flicking in tandem, teasing the underside before flattening wide again, collecting every tremor from her aching body. It makes him groan against her pussy like a savage animal, the buzzing of it sending fresh sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

He tries to adjust his position again, preparing himself for what he’s setting her off to, gripping her ass to hold her in place. His thumbs move on instinct to spread her wider so he can bury his tongue deeper. At the new angle, her whines grow louder, muffled only by the press of his head between her legs. He can feel her tightening as she nears the edge, and the throbbing only spurs him on, his own arousal spiking at the thought of making her shatter like this, with nothing but his tongue playing at her clit.

When it hits, it’s a privilege to drink her in, the flood of her wettness coating his chin, then running down his wide neck, warm, like spilled coffee. A rich and unfiltered essence that he laps up greedily, prolonging the bliss to make her release all the more devastating.

Uninterrupted series of moans fill the air, her walls clenching around nothing as pleasure spills out of her, accompanied by her hips jerking erratically. Each contraction sends jolts of bliss radiating outward that Lando swallows with an asphyxiated groan. Her body shudders violently as she rides the peak, fingers still locked in his curls, holding him there through the aftershocks that ripple endlessly.

Her pleasure fuels his, the intimacy of holding her through it until his knuckles turn white making Lando’s heart race as much as his cock. So he doesn’t let up, sucking gently to claim every last pulse, until she slumps back on the bed, all spent and glowing; he lingers there for a moment longer, pressing tiny kisses to her heated skin.

Finally, when he lifts his head, his face is flushed as if he ran a marathon, lips and chin glistening with her slickness like it’s some sort of prize. Drunk on her, Lando places one more kiss to her inner thigh before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and settling beside her, cupping her hip.

“Fuckin’ love it when you feed me breakfast in bed,” his smile turns into a playful grin as he brushes his nose against her cheek. “How about some coffee now?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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The first time Harry noticed you, you were tucked in the corner of the library, biting your lip in concentration as you scribbled notes. He smirked to himself, watching how your brows furrowed when you were deep in thought.

Too easy.

He sauntered over, his leather jacket creaking as he leaned over your table. "You’re in my seat," he said, voice dripping with arrogance.

You blinked up at him, startled. "I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know—"

"Didn’t know, or didn’t care?" His green eyes glinted with amusement as he watched you fluster.

"I’ll move," you whispered, already gathering your books.

Harry chuckled, pressing a hand down on your notebook to stop you. "Nah. Stay. I like watching you squirm."

Your cheeks burned. You didn’t understand why he was like this—why every word out of his mouth was sharp enough to cut.

But Harry knew exactly what he was doing.

Because breaking you?

That was going to be fun.

Harry made it his mission to torment you.

He’d "accidentally" bump into you in the hallway, his hands lingering just a second too long. He’d smirk when you dropped your things, then kneel down to help—only to whisper something filthy in your ear that left you breathless.

"You’re such a mess, Y/N," he taunted one day, cornering you after class. "One look from me and you fall apart."

"I don’t—I don’t like you," you lied, your voice trembling.

Harry’s grin widened. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Liar."

You hated him.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It all came to a head at a party.

You were trying to avoid him, but Harry had other plans. He found you hiding in the kitchen, clutching a red cup like a lifeline.

"Running away again?" he drawled, stepping too close.

"Leave me alone, Harry," you pleaded, but your body betrayed you, leaning into his warmth.

He cupped your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You don’t mean that."

And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t sweet. It was claiming.

When he pulled away, your lips were swollen, your eyes dazed.

Harry smirked. "Told you you didn’t hate me."

The party was still raging around you, but in that moment, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. Harry’s lips had left a brand on yours, his touch still burning your skin.

You pulled away, breathless, your fingers instinctively touching your lips. "Why did you—"

"Because I wanted to," he interrupted, his voice low and rough. His green eyes were dark, unreadable. "And you wanted me to."

You shook your head, but the lie was obvious. Your body had responded to him instantly, betraying every protest you’d ever made.

Harry smirked, victorious. "Admit it, Y/N. You’ve been thinking about this."

You hated how easily he saw through you.

After that night, things changed.

Harry didn’t stop teasing you—if anything, he got worse. But now, there was something else beneath his cruel words. A possessiveness. A hunger.

He’d show up at your dorm unannounced, leaning against your doorframe with that infuriating smirk. "Miss me?"

"No," you’d say, even as your pulse spiked.

He’d laugh, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You’re a terrible liar."

And then he’d kiss you again, pushing you against the wall like he couldn’t help himself.

You told yourself you hated it.

But you kept letting him in.

Then, one night, something unexpected happened.

You were studying in the library when Harry slid into the seat beside you. You braced yourself for his usual taunts, but instead, he just… watched you.

"You’re really into this, huh?" he said, nodding at your textbook.

You frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

He shrugged, looking almost… shy? "Just asking."

It was the first time he’d ever shown genuine interest in something you cared about.

And it terrified you more than his cruelty ever had.

The truth came out during a thunderstorm.

Harry showed up at your dorm, soaked from the rain. You let him in without a word, handing him a towel.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease.

"I think I’m fucked, Y/N," he admitted, running a hand through his wet hair.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, his usual arrogance gone. "Because I can’t stop thinking about you."

Your breath caught.

And then, for the first time, you kissed him.

-the next day-

You were supposed to be studying.

But the second Harry's text lit up your phone-"Open your door. Now."—you knew that wasn't happening.

You hesitated for exactly three seconds before giving in, unlocking your dorm door. He slipped inside like a shadow, all leather and musk and intent. Before you could speak, he had you pinned against the wall, his knee nudging your thighs apart.

"Missed me?" he murmured, lips grazing your ear.

You swallowed hard. "No."

Harry chuckled, low and dark, one hand sliding under your sweater. "Liar." His fingers found your waist, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast just enough to make you gasp. "You've been thinking about this all week, haven't you?"

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

Bad move.

His free hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Haven't you?"

A whimper escaped you. "...Yes."

"Yes what?" His voice was a rough command.

"Yes, I-I thought about you."

"Where?" His fingers trailed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings. "Here?"

You nodded, breath hitching as his fingertips teased over your soaked panties.

Harry's eyes burned. "Fuck, you're dripping." He hooked a finger under the lace, tearing them aside with a sharp tug. "Couldn't even wait for me?"

You moaned as two fingers slid into you without warning, his palm grinding against your clit.

"Look at you," he growled, watching your face twist in pleasure. "So fucking desperate." His fingers curled, dragging against that sweet spot inside you. "Bet you'd come just like this, wouldn't you? Just from my hand?"

You were close-so close-but then he stopped, pulling away.

You whimpered in protest.

Harry smirked, wiping his fingers on your thigh. "Beg."

You hated how much you loved this.

"Please," you gasped.

"Please what?"

"Please-fuck me."

His pupils blew wide. "Good girl."

In one motion, he flipped you around, bending you over your desk. Papers scattered as he yanked your leggings down, his belt buckle clinking behind you.

Then his cock was pressing against your entrance, thick and unforgiving.

“Harry一"

He didn't make you wait.

One brutal thrust, and he was deep, stretching you impossibly full. You cried out, but he didn't slow down, setting a punishing pace, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Mine," he snarled, fingers tangling in your hair. "Say it."

"Yours-fuck—!"

His teeth sank into your shoulder as you came, his own release following with a groan, hot and possessive inside you.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing.

Then Harry pulled out, turning you to face him. His thumb swiped over your swollen lips, his smirk returning.

"Still gonna pretend you hate me?"

You didn't answer.

(You didn't have to.)

Epilogue

Harry Styles was still a bastard.

But he was your bastard.

And as it turned out?

He wasn’t so mean after all.

A/N: ✨FIN!!✨

Max couldn't ever say what it was that drew him to y/n, just that he was obsessed. An unhealthy and dangerous obsession.

He'd never hurt her or want bad things for her. He just wants her.

But y/n is a free spirit, she doesn't like being tamed or held in the restraints of a relationship the way he wants.

There's only one solution.

Force her hand to change her mindset through a shared life event that binds her to him permanently for life.

"Max." Y/n cries out, dragging her nails down his back and he knows they'll be visible as evidence of just how good he makes her feel.

Because Max isn't such a selfish monster that he only thinks about himself finishing, he wants to feel y/n pushed to the state of delirium.

The less aware she is of her surroundings the better. It makes his job easier.

Max can't fight off his finish as y/n rides out her orgasm, panting, tears streaming down her cheeks and swallowing thickly as she tries to hold it back. His cum fills her and he shudders in satisfaction.

"That's it, baby. You take me so well." Max praises but y/n is sensitive even to him touching her waist.

Y/n and Max always had great sex but once he set his mind to getting her pregnant, y/n has hardly known peace. Her body is completely surrendered to him.

It took some doing but Max set everything up. He was picking up her actual birth control for a couple months before he swapped it out saying the pharmacy told him they'd changed brand and the pills might look different.

She didn't even question it for a second. Naively trusting every word he said. Because what reason did she have to not trust him.

Y/n hiccups as Max ruts into her a couple more times, like he can push it deeper into her and make it stick.

He holds himself in her as long as he can while y/n mumbles gibberish and passes out cold.

She whimpers when he does finally pull himself from her, the sight of her pussy being nearly raw with how often her's fucking her full of cum.

It's been 2 months since he switched her birth control. He's not surprised her period came the first month. Still getting the artifical hormones out of her system.

She's due on any day down if she is going to come on and the anticipation of it is killing Max. He's pretty sure he's done it and he's hundred precent certain y/n's not had enough time to think for long enough to consider that she's due on.

"You pretty so pretty baby." Max sighs softly as he reaches his hand forward and cups her cheek which she does leans into seemingly desperate for his touch in a softer nature despite not even being full conscious. He leans over and kisses her softly while y/n relaxes down.

-

Y/n was terrified, she was so scared and she went straight to Max. It wasn't even a question of whether she would or not. She was going directly to him.

Max, being the caring boyfriend he is, he took charge. He went out and got a few pregnancy tests (which were waiting in his car for this moment) and came back, sat with her which she drank excessive amounts of water. He reassured her and then he encouraged her everything would be fine when she started to feel the pressure on her bladder forcing her to take the tests.

In truth they didn't even need to wait the positive test result appeared on all the tests immediately. Y/n pales and Max has to catch her to stop her counter smacking her head off the counter.

"W-What are we going to do?" Y/n asks with her voice cracking in a squeak.

"I'm going to take care of my pregnant girlfriend and you are going to let me, baby. It's going to be fine." Max states while y/n blinks up at him.

"You're ok with this?-But-"

"It might not have been exactly as planned-" Max planned for them to be a bit quicker about it but he'd trust the process. "-but we can do this."

They will do this.

Y/n cries for a bit, not giving away her own feelings too much as Max gets them to just lie in bed.

"I don't understand. I took my pill every day. I never missed a day. You even set alarms for me."

"They don't always work baby. You're not the first or the only woman to get pregnant on them." Max states softly as she lies cuddled into him.

"And it really doesn't bother you?"

"No. It doesn't bother me. It could be good. We'll make amazing parents." Max smiles lightly finally making her look up at him to check that he's not faking his words. "I love you, and I wanted this with you one day." One day being code for as soon as humanly possible. "It doesn't make that much of a difference to me."

"I can't believe you don't...don't even care like...in a negative way." Y/n sighs then smiling. "I might actually be able to live with this."

"You can't baby, and if you can't, I'll do the living for you. I'll carry you however you need." Max promises then leaning down to kiss her.

And so it went on.

Y/n didn't even have a conversation wit Max about aborting the pregnancy because he never let her think it was on the cards. So the pregnancy went on and Max found it harder and harder to not feel the triumph of his efforts.

"Hello, baby." Max smiles as he returns home from another race weekend, this one y/n was feeling particularly nauseous and didn't want to fly.

Y/n has hit a point where clothes that fit are few and far between so she usually just sits naked. Which Max obviously loves and encourages as much as possibly. Especially since it means easy access for sex which she seems even more eager for at this point in her pregnancy and without the risk of more pregnancy she seems to be embracing the fact they don't have a need for protection.

She can't get pregnant again.

"Hey, Maxie." Y/n smiles as he sits down next to her and immediately pulls her over to straddle his lap then placing his hand on her bump which has grown substantially even in the few days he's been gone. "Your baby is being a pain."

"My baby?" Max chuckles then rubbing over her stretch skin gently. "How is she giving you pain? I'll have words."

"Keeps kicking me, I almost peed on the sofa."

Max looks over checking to see if she's lying and did in fact pee only for her to tsk and push his chin so he's looking back at her.

"Dick."

"Speaking of..." Max hums watching her get flustered immediately. She was already pretty responsive before the pregnancy but now he just has to insinuate the suggest of sex and she's clearing her throat and shifting uncomfortably since she's always desperate for him. "Doctor said we need to reduce a little."

"No." Y/n whines since Max really does all the communicating with the doctor. Obviously he wants that control to make sure she can't hide anything from him.

"How are you feeling?" Max asks softening his voice while y/n bites her lip a little.

"Naked...and very pregnant." Y/n sighs softly before she leans in and kisses him softly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Max smiles continuing to rub over her belly. "You didn't talk to your parents while I was gone did you?"

"No. Not after what they said last time." Y/n sighs shaking her head before she leans over and kisses him quickly. "Doesn't matter, I don't need them."

"No you don't." Max agrees loving the fact she's so willingly fallen into his trap. "You know you're prettiest woman I've ever met...and somehow being pregnant has never looked good to me until now."

"Maxie." Y/n grins then leaning forward and nuzzling into his neck. "You know I was so scared you'd leave."

Max smiles knowing she can't see his expression, she's so deep in it, she suspects nothing. Doesn't sabotage, doesn't suspect he did it on purpose, doesn't suspect anything. In fact she thought he would leave.

"I would never ever leave, baby. You're mine, so I'm not letting you go anywhere." Max states while y/n puffs out a breath. "I do genuinely love you so much, baby. I would never let you go."

"I love you too. I'd never let you go either. Especially not now we're gonna be a family...I do think I might struggle not walking around naked all the time though."

"You can walk around naked as much as you like." Max laughs lightly before kissing her softly. "Just makes getting you pregnant again easier."

Y/n laughs pushing at him, clearly thinking he's joking and that's good because he wants her to think he's joking. He's not. He'll make sure she recovers and they'll navigate parenthood but that's not going to stop at one baby unless something traumatic happens physically from the birth or post-birth.

Still, you couldn't ask for anything more when Kimi had finally returned home and begged you to play Last Card for old time's sake. You couldn't remember the last time you played with each other. He had been so busy with Formula One while studying and you were left trying to deal with this newfound atmosphere of being without Kimi.

You sat down on the carpet of your bedroom, legs crossed while Kimi dealt the cards out, each one sliding to you swiftly after you told him to shuffle properly.

"I hope you remember how good I am at this," Kimi said smugly, cheekily glancing at you with a grin sprawled onto his face.

You rolled your eyes, swiping the set of cards to your chest so he wouldn't see them. "You were never that good," you retorted.

Kimi laughed softly, a slight arrogance in the sound. "I always win at Last Card. Whenever we play, I always win."

You narrowed your eyes, acting indifferent to his conceit. "Well, I always win with my friends," you quipped back.

It was Kimi's turn to roll his eyes now. "You always say that. But it's different when we play," he maintained, picking up his cards as well.

You raised a brow, interest officially piqued. "How so?"

"Whether you win or lose, you always get so... pouty and angry. A sore loser really," he teased, barely looking over his cards as he captured you doing the exact same thing: lips jutted, brows mended A high pitched laughter fell from his lips in amusement. "Look at you. Already so bothered! It's okay. It's just a game."

"Sei un imbecille," you grumbled in annoyance, eyeing him carefully. You're an imbecile. "You'll probably cheat as well."

Kimi gave you a pointed look, enjoying every second of this. "Look, I promise I won't," he declared.

"Your face tells me otherwise," you retorted as he finally looked at his hand of cards.

Kimi tried to press down his smirk but to no avail. "I just have a good hand," he shrugged before settling down. "Okay, you first. I believe in you."

You sighed, clicking your tongue. You flipped over the top card from the draw pile, registering the black spade card with a '3' written across it. Peering down at your hand, you smiled smugly after spotting no red cards.

Kimi sucked in a sharp breath at the red card you had place. "Plus five already, huh?" He queried, shaking his head lightly before picking up five cards from the discard pile.

You simply continued smiling, placing down a club card to change the suit. Kimi did the same, letting you both go back and forth placing down various cards until you were left with only one. "Last card," you stated, dangling your one card in front of him.

"Yeah? Not anymore," Kimi responded, placing down a plus five card.

Your shoulders slumped. For fuck's sake. You could hear Kimi giggle as you begrudgingly took each card, eyeing him down evilly as you did so. You watched him placed down a club of eight and say, "Last card."

You narrowed your eyes at the smirk on his face. Surely not...

You sifted through your cards hesitantly, debating on turning the cards into hearts or keeping them clubs. He was probably expecting a clubs, right? You blew some air into your cheeks as you placed down a heart card of the same number, eyes darting to spot Kimi's reaction.

"And just like that..." Your best friend simply smiled, placing down his card, a fucking skip card and grinned. "I win."

Your hands fell your laps, your cards displaying their defeat. "Cazzo," you swore under your breath while Kimi only laughed.

"I told you... I always win," he remarked, stretching out his arms with a casual flex.

You tried to peel your eyes away from his biceps that had gotten bigger with his training. They looked... good. You blinked, shaking the thought from your head. "You're so annoying," you groaned, falling back first to the carpet with a dramatic sob.

Kimi grinned at your reaction, shuffling towards you. "Okay, okay. No need to be so angry," he said, grabbing your hands to pull you up. "Now you have to do a dare."

You furrowed your brows, sitting straight. "A dare? Why?"

Kimi shrugged, arrogance still dripping from his words as he let go of your hands. "Because I'm the winner. You have to do what I say," he countered childishly.

You sighed, unable to even respond to such a comment. You had far too much pride to say no. You remained quiet as he decided your fate.

"Your dare..." he hummed, rubbing his chin in thought, "is to kiss me."

Your eyes widened, skin almost immediately burning. "W-What? Kiss you?"

Had you heard him correctly? Was this the same Kimi you had been best friends with since birth?

Kimi laughed softly. "Come on... it doesn't necessarily have to be on the lips. It can be on the forehead or my cheek. You can say no and skip it. Unless... you know... you're a chicken."

Before Kimi had knew it, you had pulled his by the collar of his shirt and pressed your lips onto his. It was brief but the feeling lasted forever. Your soft lips against his, spreading warmth across his skin before you pulled away, cheeks flaming while you tried to look at him like nothing had even happened.

"Um," Kimi swallowed, skin feeling hot all of a sudden. "Well, that was unexpected."

You cleared your throat, not trusting your voice to respond right then and there. You folded your arms, flickering your eyes to the carpet.

"S-Should we end here?" Kimi asked hesitantly, fidgeting with his fingers.

You looked up instantly. "No. Another round."

Kimi raised a brow. "Another one? Why? So I can win again?" He queried, any nervousness instantly dissolving in a matter of seconds.

You gave him a pointed look before rolling your eyes. "The loser has to do a dare again."

Kimi nodded in agreement. "Fine. And since I don't want you to say I cheated," he breathed, cleaning up all the cards into one neat pile before placing them before you. "You can shuffle this time."

You poked your tongue at him childishly, moving the pile towards you before taking them into your hands, splitting them into two before crossing each section into each other. You caught the smirk on his face as you dealt out the cards. "Someone looks confident."

"Pff..." he huffed, hands waving in dismissal. "I'm not confident at all," he shrugged, sarcasm ever present in his voice, light-handedly picking his cards up.

Shit.

Kimi pressed his lips together, hoping you didn't detect that 'I have all clubs cards' face. He slowly breathed out, feigning a smile as you gestured for him to start. Tracing the inside of his cheek with his tongue, he pushed down any arrogance he initially had and picked the top card from the draw pile and internally frowned. Damn diamonds. He gave you an annoyed beam, moving to pick up some extra cards.

You pursed your lips, trying to not let your amusement show as you placed down a six of diamonds. You could hear the miffed sigh from across you, Kimi leaning forward to pick up some cards once again.

Another two rounds of red cards had Kimi groaning. "Why am I not getting any diamonds?" He spluttered as you put down another diamonds, irritation seeping through his veins. "Ugh pass," he sighed, picking up another goddamn club card.

Kimi gave you a blank look, sorely eyeing the plus five card as you uttered out the suit spades. "Are you kidding me?" He sighed, taking four more into his hand as he sported a stink eye. "Not even anymore plus cards," he grumbled under his breath, rummaging through his cards.

"Me? Kid? Never," you gasped dramatically, placing another plus five card while you carefully eyed the vein popping out on the side of his neck.

Kimi blinked at you, eye twitching, smile slowly etching onto his face while he picked up another four. "Eighteen cards," he said, "I have eighteen cards."

You grinned, dangling your last card in front of him. "And I have last card," you stated, placing down the card on top with a victorious smile.

Kimi sighed, letting his cards fall to the carpet, momentarily falling back onto the carpet. God, and he said you were pouty. After a brief period of silence, he lifted himself back up. "Okay, fine. What's my dare? Knowing you, you'll get me to run outside in my underwear os something," he muttered, bracing himself for the worst.

You smiled quietly. "I dare you..."

Kimi swallowed in anticipation.

"To give me a deep kiss."

Kimi blinked, processing your words before nodding slowly. "Sure..." he trailed off, cheeks slowly flushing. "But a deep kiss? I-I don't know how to do that but I can try," he said with a small smile. He sucked in a sharp breath, looking at you sitting across him. "Can you come closer?"

You shuffled closer, hovering over the cards until you were barely centimetres away from Kimi. You had never seen him up close like this. You could see every freckle, every divot in his flushed skin, his pretty little lashes fluttering against his cheek as he rapidly blinked. Looking all so... pure. Like the world hadn't touched him yet.

"Don't look at me like that," Kimi croaked, his warm breath fawning down your face and neck, brown eyes divided between looking into yours and the floor.

"Like what?" You queried, amused. You tilted your head, raking over him once again, hand reaching out to trail his cheek. "You seem nervous."

He laughed softly before sucking in a sharp breath, shivering under your touch. "Of course, I am." Of course he was. The girl he had been in love with since he was basically born was asking him to give her the bestest kiss ever. He gave you a pointed look, swallowing hard at your eyes on him, glazed with curiosity, joy, and lust. "Stop," he mumbled, "I feel embarrassed."

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head while you retreated your hand. "It's just a dare," you gently reminded, unsure of how much you truly meant that.

"I know, I know," he uttered, talking to himself instead of you. He took in a sharp breath before leaning in, hand falling to your jaw, holding your face ever so gently before he pressed his lips onto yours.

You could feel what Kimi understood by 'deep.' His lips soft yet pushing firmly on yours, edging your mouth open with a nudge, a fiery passion on the surface, waiting to fully catch fire.

It was good. Great even.

But as you pulled apart, you could see the scatter of red across his cheeks, hand dropping from your face. "Okay," he breathed, "there's your dare." He sighed at your raised brow, shoulders slumping. "I don't–I know you said a deep kiss but I've never just stuck my tongue–" he cut himself off as the awkwardness creeped further into his voice. "I don't know how to do it."

You stayed silent for a moment, a small smile playing on your lips at the innocent admission. He didn't know. And you would get to teach him. "You use your tongue in my mouth. Don't just stick it in there. Explore my mouth. Feel it out. Feel my tongue. The kiss is always messy. And never one-sided," you explained.

Kimi pondered over your words, unable to look away from your lips as you explained. They just looked so good. He swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth. "C-Can I try again?"

His nervousness eased at your nod. Reaching for your face again with his hand, he looked at you once again before pulling you into another kiss. This one was a bit slower, like he wasn't trying to get it done and over with.

His lips nudging yours softly – a teasing manner, not giving you quite exactly what you want or what you had taught him. A quick learner. Kimi's head tipped up slightly, mouth coaxing yours to open before you felt his tongue dart out, immediately feeling the warmth inside.

A moan slipped from his mouth as your tongue tangled with his, taking every second to taste him from the inside. The taste of his innocence. The chance to give him something he's never experienced before.

You could feel yourself smile as his hands fumbled to pull you closer, body leaning against you, the sounds from his throat becoming consistent – soft and whiny. Like he couldn't get enough.

Kimi had to force himself to breathe once you pulled apart, cheeks not only flushed but he felt lightheaded. His lips were swollen and red, glazed with a shine you had brought him. His chest heaved as he stared at you, watching your amused eyes fall to his lap.

"Cazzo," he swore under his breath, very aware of the large tent in his pants. Kimi looked back at you, apologetic. "I'm sorry. I– Just don't look at it," he murmured, trying to close his legs, only to receive an uncomfortable shiver of pleasure at the adjustment. He shuddered, cheeks burning more than ever. "So embarrassing. I didn't think a game of cards could do this."

"It's okay," you assured, looking between him and his bulge before fixating on Kimi's flustered expression. His brown eyes wide like a puppy's. Breathing uneven already. You tilted your head to the left, blinking slowly. "Do you need help?"

Kimi didn't still at your words more than he did at the intrigued look on your face. Like you were concerned and entertained all at the same time.

"H-Help?" He repeated as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Although the twitch of his cock beg to differ.

You nodded slowly. "Only if you want."

Kimi breathed out slowly. "I've never..." his mouth dried, "No one's ever touched me," he admitted.

You had figured that since racing kept Kimi busy, he hadn't really done anything in this area. Between studying and cars, he didn't have any free time like you. But hearing him actually admit it to you sent a odd tingle down your spine. Maybe it was strange but you liked that he was in front of you, leaned on his knees, inadvertently confessing his innocence.

"You only touch yourself?" You queried, unable to recognise the roughness of your own voice.

Kimi didn't think once before nodding. "In the driver's room. At home. In–" he cut himself off, biting his lip to prevent him saying too much, eyes heavily staring at you now.

"In?"

You didn't pressure him but the words just came tumbling out of his mouth.

"In your bathroom when we hang out. I just– your laundry's in there and your underwear – it just feels so good," he frantically mumbled, breathing loudly. "Like your hand's actually on me," he moaned quietly, body shuddering and eyes shutting at the memory.

You clenched your legs together, pressing your hands in between them to relieve any pressure. You could see his cock only get harder underneath his pants. Oh fuck.

"You imagine me all the time?" You asked, swallowing harshly at your skin burning.

Kimi nodded rapidly, moving to adjust the tingling pain in his groin. "All the time," he confirmed, shocking himself at how quickly his resolve dissipated around you. He had imagined it would, especially if you were touching him. But just talking about it had him delirious. How bad would it be if you touched him?

"Can you show me?"

Kimi stayed silent for a second, untrusting in his voice. For the third time he nodded, thickly swallowing the saliva built up in his mouth. He pressed his swollen lips together while he moved his hand to the waistband of his pants. Collecting both his boxers and pants together with the pinch of his fingers, the air felt cold as his cock sprung open.

You marvelled at the sight. It stood slightly tall, a bit red to convey how you made him throb. Small veins ran on the underside of his cock, pretty enough to be a decoration. And he was leaking. God, was he leaking. Small beads of pre-cum dribbling out of his tip.

And as Kimi put a hand on his shaft, you whispered. "So pretty."

A whimper left his lips, eyes fluttering and already hooded while Kimi began pumping himself, hand going up and down, straying clear of his sensitive tip. "Fuck," he mewled, head falling back.

You chewed on your lip, a gush of warmth increasing between your legs. "What do you imagine?" You asked.

Kimi lifted his head back up, brown eyes firmly on you yet hazy. His lips parted because for a moment he couldn't speak. Not when you watched him rub himself.

"I..." he huffed, hips tilting up, revelling in the dizzying strides of pleasure. "I think about your hands," he swallowed, eyes closing once again. "On my skin. My chest. My cock. How they'd look. How your lips would feel, fuck," he moaned, increasing the pace of his hand.

"Would you have me on my knees?"

Kimi shook his head quickly. "Never," he breathed out, fisting his hand tighter around his cock.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your own hand sneaking down your stomach to find your waistband.

"You don't deserve that. I'd put in the effort and fuck your mouth. Cazzo, it would be so warm," Kimi swore, a small sob escaping him.

The pleasure wasn't just dizzying. It was heavenly. Sharp yet airy. Every wave just edging him closer and closer to his release.

"You don't think about my pussy? Wouldn't it be warmer?" You retorted, voice trembling.

Kimi's eyes flew open, immediately taking notice of your open legs. You had taken off your pants and underwear, spread wide on the floor of your bedroom, fingers trailing up and down your folds, drenched in your arousal.

He moaned, chest heaving, his pace picking up even further. "Fuck," he cried out, unable to take his eyes off the way you circled your clit with a slow, firm pace.

You whimpered, flicking your clit as the pleasure rumbled throughout your body. "Ever seen a pussy, Kimi?"

Kimi shook his head, tongue licking his lips before it hung out like a lost puppy. "You're my first."

"Oh shit," you moaned at his words, pushing two fingers inside of you. Sparks bloomed within your core while you pumped them in and out of you, rubbing your insides just right.

"So innocent, so new," you drawled out, panting heavy. "I just want to mark that pretty little neck of yours. Show you what you've been missing out on. All that time in my bathroom you've been jerking off to my panties. But we could've been doing this. Letting me teach you how to feel so good," you rasped, curling your fingers as your head fell back.

Kimi could've sworn his cock was getting harder. He couldn't help it. He just had to feel his tip, taking off all the new pre-cum he had dribbled out while he edged himself closer. He had imagined this actually. More as a question of reality. Wondering if you sat in your room at night, plunging your fingers into your pussy like you were doing now, absolutely dripping while moaning his name. He wondered if your hair would be like this, matted and stuck to your sweaty skin because of how much you burned for him.

He didn't care if you didn't. Because right now, this was real. Not his dreams. His reality.

You hooked your fingers in your folds, gasping slightly at the new wave of pleasure. Shit, you were already getting close. You looked over to Kimi, body shuddering at way a bead of sweat glistened on his face, sliding from his brow to his cheek, lips parted as moans from deep down echoed through the air. What a sweet melody.

"Teach me," Kimi breathed, voice strained, hand slowing to prevent himself getting too close. He swallowed, still watching you fuck yourself on your own fingers. "Teach me everything. Teach me how to make you feel good."

"Merda," you swore, feeling your stomach tighten at his words. "Kimi," you panted, pulling your fingers out of your pussy, leaving your body screaming at you. You shuffled towards him, chest heaving as you hovered over him and grabbed his fingers from his cock, placing it on your clit.

Kimi hissed at your hand finally wrapped around his cock. If he had any dignity left, it was all gone now. He could feel your wetness and heat all over his hand and his cock pulsing in yours. He felt you tilt his head up with a pointed finger, unable to see his reflection in your eyes.

"Rub it. Slowly and firmly. In circles. Up and down. Just something," you whispered with a strained voice, trying to keep your eyes open and prevent the pleasure from taking a hold of you completely.

Kimi nodded silently, breathing slowly as you pumped him just the way he had imagined. Fuck that – this was better than he had imagined. You felt so good. And he needed to return that favour.

He did as you had said. Rubbing your clit in slow circles, brown eyes watching you carefully to see your reaction. His body burned at the way you jerked, your hand tightening around his cock. So reactive. Unlike anything he could even dream of. Pressing harder, he rubbed the bundle of nerves short quick movements, quickly registering your resolve breaking.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, Kimi," you admitted, hips jerking involuntarily. "You're gonna make me come."

Kimi groaned, feeling the heat travel up his body while you teased the tip of his cock before fisting him. He was doing that to you. Lord, give him mercy. "Cazzo, anch'io," he swore, also feeling the coil at the pit of his stomach tighten.

"Come, come, come with me," you panted.

Your loud moans mixed together as the bliss took over your bodies, leaving your minds blank and white, the sensation rolling over your body like a wave against a sandy shore. Kimi's cum was hot, spilling onto your hand while you dripped for him.

You stayed quiet for a moment, only letting your breaths mingle and sing in the air, hands no longer moving. His skin still burned, watching you lick off his cum in a way that had his cock twitching again.

"That was..." Kimi trailed off, breaking the silence yet unsure of what to say.

"Perfect," you breathed with a small smile, swallowing the salty taste in your mouth. You reached out to rub his cheek gently. "You did well, Kimi," you murmured, pressing a long kiss to his skin.

Kimi smiled softly, leaning into your hand. He looked at you carefully. "I meant it," he said, making you raise a brow. "I want you to teach me. Teach me to make the girl I love feel good."

You grinned at his admission. "When you're with me, class is always in session."

Kimi sighed, processing everything that had happened. His eyes fell to the cause of it. "Some game of cards, huh?"

You chuckled softly. "You can say that again."