hasta la vista vatos

Ryland’s word vomit arrives as gracefully as a plane crash, right after you have both stripped down to nothing and settled beneath the sheets of your queen-sized bed (a delightful upgrade from Ryland’s springy, busted twin bed back at his apartment). He’s been sweating bullets for the last hour of your impromptu make out session, and he’s been hard for about eighty percent of that time. You’ve lost count of how many times he groaned in the past twenty minutes from accidentally nudging his erection against your thigh.

Needless to say, you already figured he was a little out of practice.

“That’s fine,” you murmur from below, your head cushioned by a pillow. “I mean, the last time I slept with anyone was…” You pause, brows furrowed in thought. Ryland watches your hands leave his hair only to start counting on your fingers, muttering under your breath, until you give up, settling on, “It’s been a while for me, too.”

Ryland sighs in relief, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Good.” Then, reflexively, his head pops back up. “I mean— Not good. Sorry. That was very selfish of me. You deserve to have— you should get to, you know— bed someone as you wish. Make love. Get frisky. Et cetera. I mean, look at you, how could anyone not—? Well. Anyway… that must have been rough.”

A snort escapes you at Ryland’s inability to use the word ‘sex.’ And did he… speak in a British accent for a moment there? It’s a bit unclear what dialect he was going for.

Regardless of his awkward, sporadic behavior and ceaseless talking, you’re familiar enough with this song and dance that you don’t hesitate to return your fingers to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. The action, as per usual, makes him melt like putty in your hands. 

“Yeah, let’s maybe not get into the humiliating details,” you muse, tugging him down for a chaste kiss. He moans into your mouth, his body sagging atop yours. He tries to nod in response to your words, but his lips are still smushed against yours. Not to mention his glasses are still hanging on for dear life and poking your cheek. You gently push him away, remove them, and set them on your nightstand; Ryland flashes a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he says. “You know me. Forgot I was wearing them.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod slowly, tugging him down again. “Shut up, handsome.”

Ryland kisses you like he’s been starving for it, panting against your mouth from the effort it takes to focus on just this moment. He doesn’t want to start humping you like a dog in heat, even though he sure feels like one right about now. He gets dizzy off your shared breath, nudging his nose against yours between heated kisses. His hands are shaking — partially from holding himself up, but mostly because he’s scared to touch you. All he keeps thinking about, even now, is how mortifying it would be if he disappointed you even a little bit. He’s out of practice and definitely way too old to be floundering over a kiss, but being in your bed after months of wet dreams and sighing your name into his pillow is a step he didn’t think he’d ever take. Fortunately for him, you were brave enough to finally bring it up and drag him into your bed. 

“You can touch me,” you mumble against his mouth, noting his hesitation. 

“Right.” Ryland swallows. His lips stray to the corner of your mouth, then further to your jawline. He hides his face there, heart hammering against his rib cage, to ask, “Where?”

Although Ryland drudges up a myriad of self-deprecating thoughts upon asking, you happen to find the question terribly sexy.

“I’ll show you,” you mutter, already searching for his hands. You guide them over your body, letting his palms splay across your bare skin. His breath catches. Ryland reels his head back to get a good look at you while his hands explore — kneading at mounds of flesh, lightly pinching your nipples, caressing the curves and dips of your body. He’s meticulous in his search to find out exactly what makes you tick — a scientist after your own heart.

His cock is leaking against your thigh. It’s been in such a state for nearly an hour now; Ryland hasn’t quite found the courage to give himself to you yet. Hell, he hasn’t even dared to grind against you for fear that he’ll empty himself all over your stomach by accident.

Eventually, you turn on your side, shuffling around on your bed. Ryland watches with a growing flush as you get into position, taking his hand into your own and leading it to settle between your thighs. “Here,” you finally murmur, patient as a saint. Ryland’s heart nearly stops altogether when you guide him to where you’ve been aching just as badly as him. He drags the tips of his fingers over your arousal — wet, warm, and patiently waiting for him to get his shit together.

“Good God,” he whines, his voice cracking. Your hips jerk upward when he applies pressure, stimulating your sensitive nerves; he nearly loses all composure the second you moan in response.

“Ryland,” you whisper, squirming beneath him. You’re torn between jerking your hips forward or holding them in place; your body can’t seem to decide which is more appealing. 

“Uh-huh?” He can’t rip his eyes off your body, slack jawed as he strokes your leaking heat. Ryland’s hand suddenly redirects, fingers slipping into his mouth — his tongue swirls around them, messily wetting the digits — before traversing around your hip. He watches his finger gently prod at your rear, slowly slipping into you. Your body gives in with ease, and he marvels at your sharp breaths and sighs when he pumps his finger in and out — slowly, curling just so, angling his hand to let you receive another digit. 

Your throat bobs when you swallow, chest heaving. With a shaking hand, you reach behind you to touch Ryland’s chin. With his attention caught, you tug him closer, pulling him into your orbit. He falls into it without hesitation, allowing you to bring him in for a slow, heady kiss whilst he continues to work you open. 

If you weren’t already as worked up as you are, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for a few more hours. He’s warm and tender, expertly balancing his weight above you. For all his fumbling up to this point, Ryland has managed to far exceed your expectations — and, surprisingly, even his own. Not bad for a couple of out of practice losers.

“Ry,” you sigh into your pillow, closing your eyes to focus on him. “You can— I’m good, if you want to… to…” You trail off, too busy jerking your hips back to really finish your thought. 

Ryland gets the gist of it. In response to your invitation, the man shifts his hips forward, pressing his flushed cock against your ass. He eases his way in, a ragged groan escaping him. You can feel him panting against your cheek as he hovers behind you, working his way inside your rear, slowly filling you up. Ryland bites his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. He sinks further into you, fisting the sheets as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he sighs, hanging his head low enough that his nose touches your cheek. “Fuck. That’s good. You’re— Jesus, you’re perfect, so fucking…” He trails off, muttering a long, unintelligible string of curses beneath his breath. Ryland doesn’t dare to move until your hips cant backwards, eager for friction, wanting for more. He responds in kind, slowly reeling his hips back before swaying into your orbit. The roll of his hips is heavenly; you moan, reaching behind you. Your hands flail around, searching for his thigh, desperate to pull him in for every deep, languid thrust that fills you.

“So tight,” he mutters once his forehead drops to the crook of your neck. “So, so good. God, you’re good.” His body is flush to yours, focused less on going deep and more on simply feeling you all over him. Ryland’s hands start to wander of their own accord, gripping your hips to help you rock against him, locking your sweaty bodies into a desperate rhythm. 

When his thrusts start to become increasingly heavy, you remove your hand from his thigh to slip your hand between your legs. He doesn’t notice at first, not until you start to whine a bit from the stimulation.

Ryland picks his head up to look at you before averting his gaze downward. He licks his lips, eyes darkened to a sultry expression.

“Let me,” he boldly insists, already sliding a hand down to meet yours. His hand replaces yours; you keep it there, hovering over his for guidance, but Ryland already seems to have you figured out. The pads of his fingers press against the most sensitive parts of you, getting you off whilst his hips rock into yours. You gasp, clutching his wrist and dropping your mouth open in a perpetual moan.

“There? You like that?” Ryland asks huskily, panting against your ear with barely-there composure. You wonder if he knows how attractive he is at this moment — so unlike his usual self. More confident, more sure of his actions.

Regardless of whether he realizes how well he’s doing or not, you nod, moaning wantonly. “Yes, yes. Right there.”

You’re both a breathy, sweaty mesh of limbs, clinging to each other and chasing a high that seems increasingly within reach. Ryland is further ahead of the curve than you are, whining against your neck.

“I’m almost— Fuck, you feel amazing— Can I come inside you? I can’t, I can’t pull out… Too tight, I’m gonna lose it.”

His rambling is met with a fervent nod. As your legs kick against the sheets, Ryland pants like a dog, fucking into you sporadically. He spills his seed — hot and heavy — and groans so loud you jolt in surprise. The sound causes your muscles to squeeze around him; you’re nearing the edge now, barely hanging on.

Ryland remembers to stimulate your sex again, pushing himself up enough to slip his hand where it needs to be. He gets you off with quick, brutal force to your nerves, and you pulse against his deft hand as your orgasm hits.

Even though you’ve both cum already, Ryland’s hips don’t stop. He continues to bury himself inside you — raggedly working himself through the lasting remains of his release — while he sputters under his breath.

“Could stay here all day,” he mumbles. “Perfect, best I’ve ever had. Fuck, I can’t wait to make you cum again, babe. Fill you ‘til you’re dripping. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—”

If you weren’t so sensitive, you’d probably roll your eyes and laugh at his slurred prayer.

By the end of it, when Ryland has finally had his fill of you, he pulls out and fully drops his weight upon yours, too spent to keep himself upright. You release an oomph when he lays on you, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“Ry—” You start, already nudging him off of you.

He groans, burying his face against your neck. From his place on your chest, you can see that the tips of his ears are bright red. He mumbles something that you can’t decipher; you poke his ribs.

“What? I can’t hear you.” 

Ryland groans again, flustered and shaking his head. “Sorry. Sorry. Dunno what that was. Who even says that kind of stuff? Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

With a snort, you ruffle his already-messy hair, raking your nails over his scalp. “What are you sorry for? I liked it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You pity me,” he whines. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

You can’t help but scoff at that, yanking at a lock of his hair. Ryland yelps, turning his head to look at you.

“Who do you think I am, huh?” You poke his cheek, brow raised. “Don’t be silly. Enjoy the moment for once, won’t you?”

Ryland opens his mouth to argue, but — after a beat of consideration — he closes it. He props his chin on your shoulder, sighing through his nose.

“You are, as always, correct,” he mutters, looking at you with all the adoration a man can offer. 

“Exactly.” You smile, fixing his hair back into place. It springs right back up, perpetually defying gravity. Your head tilts, searching his expression. “You know, you’re selling yourself short. That was really good for five years out of practice.”

Ryland perks up. “Really?”

“Really.”

The man cracks a smile, shifting to nuzzle his scratchy, stubbled cheek against your shoulder. “Well, you’ve only seen a fraction of my power.”

“Oh?” You laugh at the ridiculous, overly-serious tone he takes. “Do share more.”

“Give me ten minutes, baby, and I’ll rock your world.”

Advice: Always trust a scientist to deliver thorough results.

fancy some more?