dallas

Shakily, he lets one hand go from the wheel and waits for yours to join it. He’s never held hands while driving and isn’t really sure where to put them or what he's supposed to do.

But as always, you know what to do when he’s unsure, and bring your clasped hands down carefully to rest just above his knee.

Lars feels a bit hot. You’re touching his hand, skin to skin, but also his leg. It might be over fabric but it’s pleasantly warm and tingly all the same.

The car jolts over a bump in the road then, and your hands slip a little at the gentle impact. They slip further up his thigh.

He silently prays that you won’t notice how flustered he’s getting. His breath heaves, he can feel the heat of his cheeks powdering bright pink, and he’s not sure how long he can stave off the little groan that’s clawing to escape from his throat at the way his trousers are tightening around him.

You make no effort to slide your hands back up toward his knee, quite content and Lars is frozen, barely even able to concentrate on driving so he focusses all his efforts on that.

Luckily, he’s home and he can probably find a way to disguise this unfortunate situation until it goes away, even if he has to hide out in the bathroom for a while.

Parking the car up outside, he just stares forward for a moment, unsure how to play this. Does he let go first? Does he kiss you? Will a kiss make his situation even harder to navigate??

He shuts his eyes tight.

‘Lars?’ you whisper from beside him, and he winces. ‘It’s okay. Do you want- I mean, I can touch you. I’d really like to, if you want me to.’

He turns to you then, watery blue eyes glinting in the moonlight, filled with panic and desire and hope.

‘I’ve thought about it,’ you go on, carefully, ‘quite a lot actually. I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready yet. And it’s okay if you’re not! I just thought… well, since you’re-’

‘How do I know if I’m ready?’ he asks, voice low, his brow pinched as he tries to breathe through it.

‘Oh, um… I guess you don’t really? It’s more about what feels right to you in the moment, I suppose. If you feel like you want to.’

Lars nods, averting his gaze, considering. Processing. The tent in his trousers still painfully evident.

‘I- I think I want to,’ he tries.

‘If you want we could just try it first to see how you feel. I can stop anytime.’

His hand feels clammy in yours now and his other hand is gripping the steering wheel so tight you're surprised he hasn't snapped it in two.

‘Yeah. I want to try it,’ he says, voice cracking a little half way with shame. He's certain though.

‘You’re sure?’

He nods. ‘I’m sure.’

‘You can guide my hand if you-’

‘I trust you,’ he blurts, surprising even himself, ‘more than anyone, I trust you.’

'Yeah?'

'Yes!'

You feel your own cheeks warming up.

‘How do you like it?’ you ask, and Lars feels his cock throb with heat.

‘I... don’t know.’ He swallows hard.

‘That’s okay. We can figure it out. Together.’

You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, letting out a little whine. He’s aching so much for you now; this is the longest he’s ever entertained the thought — and then before he can stop himself, he lets out a little, ‘Please.’

Gently, you slip your hand out of his, and place your palm over the bulge in his trousers.

He bucks his hips involuntarily, it’s partly surprise, partly instinct.

‘You’re so hard for me,’ you coo, ‘and so big-’

Lars is glad it's the dark because he knows he must look desperate, and he can’t bring himself to look at what you're doing either. It's one thing that he wants it but to be faced with it completely, he may combust.

‘Can you spread your legs for me?’ you ask gently.

He shifts a little in the driver’s seat to accommodate your request.

‘That’s it, baby. I’m going to unfasten your pants now, okay?’

He nods, eyes shut tight again, head tilted back against the headrest in an attempt to ground himself.

‘If it’s too much, just say so, or push my hand away and I’ll stop. Got it?’

‘Yes-’ he whines.

You slide your hand into his underwear and Lars sucks in a sharp breath. It feels heavenly, like all the touch he’s spent a lifetime avoiding is concentrated together in this one caress, but it feels... good? So good he can't think of a way to explain it.

Your fingers curl around his length and you begin stroke slowly, softly, watching his face contort as he adjusts to this sudden sensation of touch being not only tolerable, but something he can't get enough of.

The moans that fill the car as you glide your fist over his cock are obscene, and if Lars wasn’t so enraptured, he’d be fiercely embarrassed about them.

It’s like he’s floating above existence and sinking into pleasure both at once. He wants this sensation to last forever and yet, he feels this unavoidable pull to chase it.

‘F-faster,’ he groans, ragged and breathless.

You do as he asks, pumping your fist a little harder, feeling him throb in your grip.

‘I- I can’t- I’m gonna-’

Lars can’t get the words to come out quite right, but you don’t need him to. You can feel it. It's quick, but it must be so intense for him and honestly nothing is hotter than a man who can't help but immediately fall apart at your touch.

‘Cum for me, baby, I want you to cum all over my hand, you’re doing so good.’

Heart slamming in his chest, he spills thick and hot and fast, rutting up into your fist. His back arches and guttural sobs tear from his chest before he slumps forward and the horn sounds, no doubt alerting Karin who you’re vaguely aware is peering out of an upstairs window.

Theres a lot, enough to make you wonder when the last time was that he touched himself.

Lars flops back into the drivers seat when the waves of his pleasure subside, panting and whimpering and trembling.

You keep stroking him with gentle little swipes of your thumb to keep him grounded with you as he softens in your palm. Only then do you slide your hand out and zip his pants back up.

He’s still catching his breath, working through it all, so you just sit beside him, praising him with whispers and carefully tucking his hair back into place where it’s come loose in thick strands, stuck to his damp forehead.

‘How was it?’ you ask when he’s recovered enough to open his eyes.

Lars turns his face to you, cheeks streaked with tears. ‘Overwhelming,' he sniffles. 'It was like every good feeling I’ve ever experienced, all at once.’

You smile back at him.

‘Is that how it always feels? Is that what I’ve been missing out on?’

‘Maybe not always. There might be some things you don’t enjoy as much, and there might be things you like more, but you only find out by trying them, if and when you feel ready.’

‘I want to try all of them,’ he says, dead serious, and you can't help but giggle. It feels kind of naughty somehow.

‘Me too. With you,’ you say.

A gentle smile pulls at his lips for a brief moment.

‘I didn’t mean to get so turned on just from the touch of your hand… I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be, I liked it,' you grin. 'Lars, when was the last time you… y’know?’

‘Oh I don’t touch myself,’ he says simply. It feels easier now you've taken this step together. ‘But if I’d known it could be so-’ he whistles out a breath, ‘I should have taken it up a long time ago.’

He’s joking around, you know he is, but you decide to take a chance and push it.

‘There’s no time like the present.’

Lars raises his eyebrows at you, wondering if you're serious, and if his legs are still too shaky to get inside yet because if you are, he's not sure how long he can wait.

‘Let’s go make a start shall we? We could do it together?’ you smirk at him playfully.

henry had been watching you since day one. from the very first time he saw you in the lecture hall, he was completely and utterly obsessed with you. you were so sweet and kind and radiant, everything he wasn't.

he was typically annoyed by people like you, people he thought just had sunshine shooting out of their ass. but for some reason, you were the exception to that. he was entirely enamoured by you. you always gave him a little smile when you saw him, matched with a little wave. you complimented his work in class, you even stopped to talk to him about tristan reveur one time after presentation day. you were all to compile a presentation on your favourite artist and dissect the themes in their work, and of course that's who he chose. he actually just brought up a bunch of art he considered to be shit and used a quote from reveur to justify it:

"bad art is more tragically beautiful than good art because it documents human failure."

the premise had intrigued you greatly, so after the class, you approached him to ask him questions about the artist he'd selected. at first he'd assumed you were teasing. but you listened to him. no one had listened before. that's when he started... well, he classified it as taking care of you from afar. anyone else would've called the cops because he was stalking you. but that's by the by. that's when it started anyway.

he learned your schedule. learned what bus you took to get to and from the college every day. learned what shifts you worked in that diner across town. he found out where you liked to go grocery shopping on thursdays (because that was a free day for you). he had the exact pantone shades of your hair, your skin, your eyes down in a notebook he'd bought to fill with you and only you. he knew everything.

he'd "take" you home every night. just to make sure you got home safely. and he'd make a new cigarette scar on his pale arms every time you went home alone. he wanted to go home with you. wanted to take you to bed and treat you like the angel he sees you to be. but sinners don't get the angels in the end, he tells himself with every burn.

on nights that henry couldn't sleep, which was most nights, he'd walk to your place and sit under a tree across the street. close enough for him to see what he wanted, but far enough in the shadows not to get caught. on one such night, he was keeping watch when he saw you leave. he'd learned by now that if you yourself couldn't sleep, you went for a walk around town. but you must've been a little extra sleepy tonight, because you forgot to lock the door behind you as you walked away.

henry could've done the right thing, could've been a gentleman and not gone inside your house. but why would he do that when he could do the complete opposite and be in your space?

he waited till you'd turned the corner to sprint across the street and enter your home. oh, was it warm. like you. completely unlike him and his poor excuse for a home - blankets on the floor of a dodgy apartment, walls scrawled with the words 'forgive me' in his handwriting.

he explored slowly, committing every detail to memory. the scent of you was still in the air, vanilla and raspberry and something just uniquely you that drove him just a little crazy. well, crazier, the man was in your house and you had no idea.

or, that was until you walked back through the door. you'd forgotten your headphones like an idiot, so you came back for them. you didn't notice anything different at first other than the fact the front door was unlocked, but that was on you.

you made your way to the bedroom, and froze when you found someone else who had also made his way to the bedroom. he barely heard you come in, too focused on the smell of your panties that he'd plucked from your laundry basket in the corner. when he saw you stood in the doorway, his eyes went wide with fear. oh god. you'd seen him. he was fucked.

but after a moment of silence, the words that left your mouth were ones that confused him.

"those smell nice, sweetie?"

henry just... continued to stare, unsure if he'd just imagined those words. you stepped closer to him, he instinctively backed away. you cornered the poor boy against the wall, your panties still clutched in his fist.

"i asked you something, handsome. you gonna answer me or what?"

your tone made a nice shade of red rise to his cheeks as he hesitated.

"uh... yes. they... they do..." he answered quietly.

"yeah. wore those yesterday. they're fresh... here, you want these ones?" you reached under your skirt and peeled off the panties you were wearing, holding them out like an offering to a god. henry stared bug eyed as you removed the garment and dangled them on the end of your finger.

"well? take them then, don't just fuckin' stand there. i know you want them, you dirty pervert. don't pretend."

he whimpered slightly at the stern quality of your voice and didn't waste another moment, taking the panties with a shaking hand.

"what do you say?"

"th-thank you..."

"atta boy. now... can't just let you get away with breaking into my house. s' gotta be a punishment for that, you understand?"

henry froze, looking like a deer in headlights.

"a punishment...?"

"yeah. if you're bad, you get fucking punished. that's how it goes... take off your clothes."

"wh- my clothes?"

"yes, your clothes. off. now."

your tone left no room for defiance. he shakily stripped off his clothes, a pile growing on the floor beside him until he was bare before you.

"mm... so pretty for me, aren't you? hm... on the bed."

henry made his way over to your bed and laid down on top of the covers, legs spread slightly, waiting for your next move. he watched with wide, worshipping eyes as you stripped down to nothing but skin. your clothes joined his on the floor before you slowly crawled over him, stopping to sit back on his thighs.

"look so cute under me..."

you pinned his wrists above his head. that's when you noticed the circular scars adorning his arms.

"what're those, baby?"

henry hesitated before answering.

"burn scars..."

"from your cigarettes?"

he nodded in response. you studied the scars for a moment, tracing your fingers over them, before finding the freshest one. you circled it gently, delicately.

which made it all the more shocking when you pressed your thumb into it.

henry yelped softly in surprise as you dug into the scar.

"gotta hurt you a little, dove. you were naughty breaking into my home like that..."

it'd only scabbed over, so when you pressed harder, it was no surprise that blood started trickling down from the wound. henry watched in awe and slight horror as you made him bleed.

"wow... your blood is such a pretty colour..." you mused before moving to lick it up slowly. he whimpered in a mix of pain and odd pleasure at your actions.

"mmm... yummy..." you murmured before poking your tongue into the reopened wound, making him moan breathily.

you stayed there, tasting his blood for a while before pulling back. you situated yourself on his now painfully hard cock and slotted it between your puffy pussy lips, not letting him enter you, but humping your wetness onto him teasingly. and he fucking whined.

"aww... makin' such cute sounds for me... you can't have it yet, bug, you gotta wait..."

you continued to ever so gently rock your hips, teasing him cruelly as he whimpered and whined for you. you loved being mean to him, he was just too cute not to tease.

"p... please... mh... please..." he whimpered out as your clit caught slightly under his tip again.

"please what? c'mon, you don't even beg that well, i always imagined you'd be better at begging. use your fucking words, tell me what you want."

henry whined and arched his back slightly at the degrading words. god, he really got off on this.

"p-please... please fuck me... need... need to feel you..."

"what, you're not feelin' me now? s' this thing even work?" you asked in a mocking tone, before slamming your hips down, practically mashing his sensitive cock against his navel, making him release a beautiful, broken sound.

"feelin' me yet?" another harsh slam, another broken moan.

then, you lined his leaking tip up with your entrance, and slammed down a third time, finally taking him inside you with a satisfied sigh. he practically squealed as you took him entirely.

"how about now? you feel me now?"

"y-yes! yesyesyes, oh god, i- ffffuck, i feel you!" he gasped out in euphoria. his hands struggled against your grip, aching to grab at your hips, but you didn't let him.

"yeah, i bet you fuckin' do. you're gonna feel all of me now, huh? wrapped around you so tight like this."

you rocked your hips viciously on him, showing not a shred of mercy towards his cries and moaning whimpers.

"bet you've jerked off thinking about me screwing your brains out, haven't you? fuckin' perverted dirty little mutt."

you spat into his open mouth, moving to hold both wrists in one hand, using the other to squeeze his cheeks.

"swallow, perv. you take what i fuckin' give you." you slapped him, listening as he whimpered and did as he was told.

"atta boy."

you bounced on his cock without a hint of delicacy or restraint. you clawed down his scarred arms, making him sob as the fresher scabs ripped away from skin, now once again drooling blood down his arms. the pain and sick twisted pleasure of it brought him closer to his peak, his hips thrusting up weakly.

"you're close already, aren't you? god, what a fucking whore."

he whined, his nails digging crescents into his palms as he teetered on the edge of reality and orgasmic pleasure.

then, just as he was shoved over that edge, you pulled off of him suddenly, having him cum on his stomach instead as he cried out in protest at the loss of your wet warmth and the intense feeling of letting go inside you, instead left with a ruined orgasm shooting into the cold air. you just chuckled meanly, watching the fat salty tears roll down his cheeks in despair at what seemed to him an awful lot like betrayal.

"ohh... did you think the scar stuff was gonna be your only punishment? you're more stupid than i gave you credit for, bug..."

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