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You were already half-naked when he pushed you back onto the wide couch, the leather cool against your skin. Soldier Boy didn’t bother taking his jeans all the way off. He just shoved them down enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, already hard from the way you’d been teasing him all night.

He settled between your thighs, one big hand pinning your wrist above your head while the other guided himself to your entrance. He pushed in slow, watching your face the entire time, until he was buried to the hilt. A low, satisfied sound rumbled out of him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, rolling his hips once just to feel you clench. “Been thinking about this since you walked through the door. Looking at me like you wanted it.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. “I did want it.”

He smirked, that cocky, slightly crooked smile that always made him look like he already knew he’d won. “Yeah? Then you’re gonna do something for me.” He reached over to the low table, grabbed the joint he’d rolled earlier, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The tip glowed bright. He took a long, slow drag, held it, then leaned down and blew the smoke against your mouth. “Open up.”

You parted your lips. He pressed the joint to them himself, the filter still damp from his own.

“Inhale,” he ordered, voice rough. “Deep. Don’t cough yet. I wanna feel it when you do.”

You drew the smoke in. It burned going down, thick and earthy. Your eyes watered a little. Ben watched every second of it, his cock twitching inside you when your lungs expanded around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, starting to move, slow, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot. “Hold it, fuck…”

You locked eyes with him. He thrust harder, just once, and the pressure forced the air out of you in a sharp cough. Your pussy clenched hard around him. Soldier Boy’s head dropped forward with a low, filthy groan.

“Jesus, there it is. You feel that? Every time you cough you squeeze me like you’re trying to keep me inside.” He pulled the joint back, took another hit himself, then offered it again.

You took the second drag. Smoke filled your chest. He waited until your eyes were glassy, then drove into you deep and sharp. The cough ripped out of you mid-thrust, wet and involuntary, your body locking down around him in helpless waves.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips stuttering. “That’s perfect.” He kept fucking you through it, short, rough thrusts that chased every tremor. “Talk to me. Tell me how it feels.”

You swallowed, voice already rough. “It ah…it feels like you’re too deep. Every time I cough it gets tighter and I can’t...”

“Can’t what?” He ground against that spot that made your thighs shake. “Can’t stop squeezing me? Good. That’s exactly what I want.” He pushed the joint back to your lips. “One more.”

You inhaled. He didn’t wait. The second the smoke was in your lungs he slammed home, and the cough tore free.

“Fuck, Ben!”

“Yeah?” He was breathing harder now, the joint dangling from his fingers as he fucked you in earnest. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

“Harder,” you managed between coughs and gasps. “Please, don’t stop...”

He laughed, low and dark, and gave you exactly what you asked for. The couch creaked under the force of his hips. Smoke still hung in the air between you. Every time another cough shook through you, he groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt.

“Look at you,” he muttered against your ear. “You like this? Getting used like this in my apartment, and getting the air fucked out of you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice wrecked. “I like it, god, I like it!”

“Then give me one more.” He pressed the joint to your mouth again, the last of it glowing. “Last hit. Make it count. Then I’m gonna let you cum.”

Summary: You’re flat on your back, trying to tell Soldier Boy exactly what an asshole he is. The problem is he keeps fucking you so deep that every sharp remark fractures halfway out of your mouth turns into a broken moan instead.

𑣲 Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, 18+, dumbification, power imbalance, rough sex, age gap, asshole soldier boy, manhandling

wc: 520

You’re flat on your back on the leather sofa, legs hooked over his thick forearms as Soldier Boy drives into you in a hard, relentless missionary. His big body cages yours, hips snapping forward with enough force that every thrust shoves you up the cushions. The wet, filthy sound of it fills the VIP room.

“You’re— ah— you’re such an asshole,” you manage between broken breaths, trying to glare up at him.

He just laughs and sinks even deeper on the next thrust, grinding against that spot that makes your vision white out for a second. “What was that, doll?”

“I said—” Your sentence fractures when he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in to the hilt. A helpless little sound punches out of you. “I said you’re a fucking...”

Another deep thrust. Your mouth falls open and the rest of the insult dies into a high, shaky moan. Your hands scramble against his scarred chest, nails dragging, but you can’t get any real leverage. He’s too heavy, too deep, filling you so completely that coherent thought keeps slipping away.

Soldier Boy props himself up on one forearm so he can look down at your face while he fucks you. His expression is pure smug satisfaction. “C’mon. Finish the thought. I know you were about to call me something real nasty.”

“You— fuck— you can’t just...”

He angles his hips and drives in harder. The head of his cock drags over that sensitive place inside you with every stroke and your argument dissolves into breathless, punched-out noises. Your thighs are trembling around his waist. You can feel how wet you are, the slick mess of it coating his cock and dripping down onto the leather.

“Can’t just what?” he prompts, voice rough with amusement. He slows just enough to make you feel every thick inch sliding in and out, then bottoms out again with a heavy roll of his hips. “Use your words, Or did I fuck the attitude right outta you already?”

You try again, stubborn even as your eyes are going glassy. “You’re so— so goddamn full of yourself, you always think you can just...”

The rest of the sentence never makes it out. He snaps his hips forward in a particularly brutal thrust and your head tips back against the arm of the sofa, mouth open on a silent cry. Your cunt clenches hard around him. He feels it and groans, dropping his forehead against yours for a second.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters. “Can’t even finish an argument when you’re getting fucked this deep, can you?”

He watches the whole thing with dark, hungry eyes, clearly enjoying how easily he can reduce you to nothing but breathless, fucked-stupid noises.

“Look at you,” he says, almost fond. “All that attitude and you still can’t talk back when my cock’s this far inside you. Cute.”

He shifts one of your legs higher, folding you open even more so he can sink that last impossible inch deeper. The new angle makes your eyes roll. Whatever sharp comeback you’d been trying to form dissolves completely.