grey.

and he loves to fuck you rough.

it’s not all that fast—god knows if he went as fast as he used to, his damn hip would pop out of place. so he makes up for his lack of speed with hardness. his hips meet yours in cruel, firm thrusts, rocking your entire body up the bed—your head hitting the headboard so often, you fear a concussion.

and his pace might not be quick, but it’s consistent. for a good bit, he could go just like that—strong hips pushing against yours, tip abusing your fucking cervix, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of your spent pussy.

and it doesn’t help that he sounds so pretty too.

most of the time, he grits his teeth, hissing in your ear and letting little chesty grunts loose. he doesn’t feel that those needy moans would work coming from him at his age, but at his core, he’s always been weak for one thing—you. so when you ask him to be loud for you, tell you how good he feels, his lips will instantly part, jaw dropping for you and letting all those guttural noises spill out.

and when your cunt flutters around him, impossibly more turned on by his deep groans, a whimper sounds at the back of his throat. flustered, he’ll bite down on your shoulder—not hard, he’d never want to hurt you, but firm enough that your skin tingles beneath his teeth.

he doesn’t last as long as he did back then. where once he could go for hours, he can’t stave off his peak for longer than a half hour now—and that’s if he really tries. which, he hardly does. why should he, when you seem so eager for his cum anyway?

something that always speeds up the process is praise. with his age, he’s become a little more conscious of himself—his changing body, which you insist is sexier than ever before, but he remains stubborn in thinking he’s not good enough for you. older, tired, scarred up. so when he’s balls-deep, with sweat dripping from his temples and breath catching in his throat? and you’re breathlessly whining, “Making me feel so good, Leon— fuck, so good for me.” and, “You’re gonna make me cum..” ? He’s gone.

but sometimes, praise from you is just that glaze in your eyes—the cockdrunk gasps slipping from your wet lips, unfocused gaze and tremble in your thighs. visible signs that he’s making you feel good. no, better than good. fucking euphoric. and suddenly he’s gasping for air, hand flying down to your hip to grip it tight as his hips falter, filling you with all he’s got.

he also loves when you ride him. he feels a little less secure in this position, his body more visible to you, but once he gets you in his lap, grinding your hips against his, giggling out moans when his hips instinctively buck up into yours—he forgets all that. and he looks so pretty like this, laid back against the pillows, eyes struggling to stay open, brows drawing tight, lips inevitably falling open as he breathes shallowly. one of his hands on your waist, sometimes helping you bounce, others just resting there. the other is either gripping the sheets to ground himself, stave off his orgasm a little longer, or it’s on you—holding your face with visceral devotion, tucking hair that’s sweatily matted to your temple behind your ear. or on one of your tits, groping the soft flesh there desperately. reverently.

some things have to change. sure, he can’t fuck you like he could, can’t last as long as he could, and he’s not as confident anymore. but he finds ways around it.

he finished before you? he’s shuffling down the bed and stuffing his tongue between your legs for an hour minimum, flicking at your clit and thrusting into your cunt until you’re gushing all over his face. and when you think you’re done, numerous orgasms later, he’s rolling onto his back, pulling you with him and slotting you right onto his face—moaning deeply into you at just the position.

his hips aren’t moving fast enough? his hand is creeping between you, fingers working at your clit in rapid, smooth circles. he’d rub you just right, just how you like it, until your cunt clenches around his cock and leaves a white ring sheening it—and he still wouldn’t stop. you’re his girl—he knows you like it that way.

he’d do anything to make sure you stay satisfied. which, you always are anyway, more than. with a man like that, there’s no way you’re leaving his bed without a tremble in your steps and soreness to last you days.

The build up to kissing you is slow, the way he stares at you like there’s nothing left in the world except you and the love he has for you. The way his hands roam oh so slow; starting at your waist and feeling their way up, stopping for maybe just a moment or two too long when they brush past your chest. The way his fingers dance over your collarbone is sure to send shivers down your spine before he amends the jolt by cupping your face in his hands, the heat from his palms almost scalding. He’s always either freezing or burning, never in between. 

All that for him to finally close the distance even slower, taking in the way your breath catches when he’s close enough for your noses to bump. He likes to hesitate just a breath away from you just to hear the exasperated way you huff out that gasp, just to make you sure you want it as badly as he does. Then his lips are on yours. Slow, but ravenous, light and pressing in deeper and deeper by the second. 

When he was younger this would’ve been the point where he’d start biting and licking, trying to invade your senses to make you want and crave him just as much as he did you. But with age came the ability to draw things out, the ability to linger and kiss you slow and deep to feel the way you crumple, even when you’re straddling his lap on top. 

He likes to pull away every now and then to tease you more. To watch the way you slowly lose your mind chasing after his lips. It only adds to the fun when you’re denied so much that you get desperate enough to bite and licking on your own, pressing and begging him to pick up the pace with a series of pathetic whimpers. 

Now there is the reward he was waiting for. 

He’ll only give it to you once you beg, his hands cupping your cheeks sliding to thread into your hair so he can angle your head, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip slow and playful before he takes advantage of the little gasp you let out and slips his tongue to meet yours, licking against your own to goad you into giving more and more to him. 

He hums low and deep when you do, the sound shooting straight down to your core and pulling a heady moan from you as well. He pulls back to suck and nibble on your bottom lip then, his free hand taking its sweet time finding its way under your shirt. His palm slides up your side the same way his tongue slides against your lip, his fingers rubbing over and pinching your nipple just as sharply as his teeth find your lip and clamp. 

The way you whine is everything to him. It kicks his heart up a few beats, makes him more just a bit faster as his hand trails down, rubbing up against your clit through your panties and feeling how damp the fabric is. That makes him groan against your lips, his cock throbbing against his pants with a desperation that surprised even himself. He didn’t think anything could get him that hard at this age. 

In his new found desperation, his lips trail down in a filthy trail from your lips to your neck, his teeth finding the same place his fingers had so delicately traced earlier to bite and nip, his tongue laving over the bruises he left to soothe. 

As patient as he could be about kisses, when it came to anything more, he really couldn’t help himself. Perhaps it was the aching need for intimacy. The need for physical closeness to feel emotional closeness. Whatever it was, it always made him act like a fool. 

His calloused hands working down your panties with as much gentleness as he could muster despite his hurried pace, his fingers poking, prodding, scissoring and curling to stretch you enough to take his cock. It was never enough in the end, though at times like this he couldn’t wait. 

Times like this, he remembers how much of his life had flown by in a blink. He remembers how many times he held himself back for the sake of others and how little he enjoyed life because of it. He remembers how little he cared for everything, and how much he cares for you now, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t a little desperate to show you. 

So he works you down onto his cock despite the rushed prep. He thumbs your cheek and whispers praises to soothe you until he can move. He starts out slow when he does, just to make sure you can really take it. Slow and hard. He works you down onto his cock, and when you can take enough, he thrusts his hips up into yours, making sure you can feel him buried inside you when you come down. 

He likes to watch the way your face screws up when he angles his hips just right, when his hands press you forward into him so he can more firmly grab your ass and spread you out from the back. He likes to watch the way all thought visibly drains from your head when desperation takes over and his hips snap into yours, when he adjusts the way he’s sitting and drills into you like the grip of your pussy put years back on his life and he’s young enough again to fuck you the way you need him to. 

He for sure likes the way you clumsily try to kiss him through all of this, the way you can barely keep yourself from moaning into his mouth as you meet with a clasp of lips and teeth, all messy yet so fucking hot that he can’t bear it. It takes everything in him from blowing his load then and there. You just clench around him so deliciously when you kiss, as if his lips against yours brought you the greatest amount of pleasure in the world. 

He waits until you get there first, working into that gummy spot of yours with scary efficiency and reaching down to thumb your clit so you break apart on his dick and he can follow. It’s only when you’re twitching and whining that he lets himself spill into you, his grip on you strong enough to bruise and his heart beating so fast in his chest that he’s worried he’ll have a heart attack then and there. 

He wouldn’t do that to you. Keeling over and dying after sex that good, he wouldn’t traumatize his girl like that. No, instead he works you and himself down, pulling your body snug against his as his lips find yours again, back to kissing slow to bring the both of you down from so much heat. 

Kisses with Leon after sex feels better than anything else. So grounding, so complete. So much like home.