Jady

he squeezes the cigarette into an ashtray and looks at the time when he hears the door bell ringing. Its late and you’re here.

he hears you running up the stairs, and when you get to the top you run to him, giving him a soft hug. His heart keens.

“hi Choso!” you smile and let go of him, he immediately misses the feel of you, “hey,” he mumbles.

“why do you smell like cigerattes?” you huff and your nose crickles. cute.

he raises his shoulders.

“i cant believe it…who taught u to do that huh?” you make a disappointed face and fold your arms, tapping your foot on the floor. And he knows youre just joking, you and Yuji have been using enough sarcasm around him for him to have a pretty good understanding of it.

“Leiri,” he shrugs.

“of course…that hag,” you grin. And you look so fucking adorable, in your little outfit, and the way you look when you smile makes him weak. He has your bag ready on the couch, he had washed your panties before putting everything back into it. But he can’t think about that now, or he’ll turn bright red.

he sighs “i made dinner,” he says, “if you’re hungry,” you stop infront of him and you almost look like youre gonna cry from happiness. “im starving,” you say quickly, “what did you make?”

He’d made rice bowls for you. your favourite. And you eat like a girl who’d gotten her first meal in months. Happily humming while eating your food.

Rather than focusing on eating his own bowl, he thinks about eating every meal of the day with you, sitting across from him.

when you’re done you put your plate in the sink and you yawn, you look adorable when you yawn, you look adorable when you do anything.

you turn around, “Choso?”

his heart skips a beat. he nods.

“it’s really late and um…dark outside and i don’t really want to walk home alone,” you look away, are you….blushing?

“is it okay if i stay here for the night?”

And hes heard the stories. About what happens to pretty girls when they’re alone at night and they don’t see the stranger walking behind them. And his fist clenches at the thought of someone being mean to you. He’s stronger than any human. he’d crush their fucking skull.

“you can stay,” he says quickly, a little too eagerly he realises. And you smile, “give me your plate,” you say, looking greatful that he let you stay, unknowing of the fact that he’d do just about anything if it meant your safety, or your happiness.

You start washing the dishes in his tiny kitchen, and when Choso tries insisting that he wants to help, you splash a bit of water on him. And you laugh so sweetly, when he jumps a little, trying not to get hit.

When youre done washing up, You both stand in silence for a while. For some reason its not as akward as it sounds.

“i will sleep on the couch,” he says,

“no Choso…id feel bad, you sleep in your bed,” you mumble.

You both argue like that for a while, and youre not letting up. stubborn little human.

you both get quiet for a moment.

“how big is your bed?”

“Queen size,”

“so why dont we just…sleep in it together?”

youre blushing slightly again. it must be his imagination.

And then he thinks about it. Friends sleep in the same bed sometimes right? you dont mean anything by it, he thinks, its just you being polite.

“i guess…we could do that yes,” he agrees.

you smile and nod, “okay,”

Choso excuses himself to go to the bathroom then, telling you to go ahead and get ready for bed.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He takes out his buns, his hair falling down to his shoulders. His eyes are dark and sunken. He looks dead he thinks. He looks down, “behave,” he says quietly, mostly to his heart, but also his dick.

he buries his head in his hands And He realizes he cant, he realizes the second he’s gonna look at you in his bed, he won’t be able to stop himself. to stop himself from confessing everything he feels, everything he’s done. that he thinks about you all the time, that you drive him insane, that he stole your pretty panties and came in his hand from the smell of your wet cunt.

When he rounds the corner of his bedroom, you’re sitting patiently on the edge of his bed, waiting for him.

“i am going to sleep on the couch, i don’t think this is a good idea,” he says it quickly, before he changes his mind, before its too late to go back.

you open your mouth to speak, hesitating a little.

“is it because of what yuji told me?”

his brain goes quiet. “what?”

“that you…that you like me?”

fuck. its over. he sighs angrily. that little fucki-

you stand and walk to him.

and when you put your hand on his chest, for a moment he forgets why hes mad, he forgets who he is and what year hes in. all he sees is you. And how close you are all of a sudden. and how youre leaning in, standing on your tippy toes, pressing your soft lips to his, in a short gentle kiss. His world stops for a moment.

And when he regains his senses, his instincts take over and he kisses you back ferociously, it’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but neither of you seem to care.

You walk backwards onto his bed, and you push him down so he’s sitting on the edge. He looks at you like a puppy dog, and his cheeks are flushed red.

When you sit down in his lap his dick twitches in his pants.

“i- i didnt think you…,” he stutters. he doesn’t really believe what’s happening.

“well i do,” you say, while cupping his face in your hands. “a lot,”

“can i…” he needs it he needs it he needs it, “can i eat your pussy?” he mumbles it quietly.

your eyes widen. fuck, he shouldn’t have said that, it was way too fast, you were just kissing.

“oh…uh okay,”

fuck. yes.

he lifts you up from his lap, and you skriek a little from surprise. He puts you down in a chair in the corner of his bedroom.

he gets on his knees infront of you and speaks quietly,

“i…im sorry i,” he sniffles a little, he’s so overwhelmed. And you’re letting him taste you.

you lean down and give him a kiss, biting your lip slightly.

“its okay…we can talk later, if you need it i’ll give it to you okay?”

And fuck he almost cries, and he buries his face in your lap. You shush him a little, caressing his hair. Hes hugging your legs.

He lifts his head, and you start unbuttoning your pants. Slowly sliding them down your hips as they fall to the floor. You spread your legs and he whimpers. Your panties are pink this time, and theres a big wet spot on them. And he doesn’t spare a second, he dives his head into your cunt, rubbing his face in it and licking at the wet spot desperately. you moan his name softly, and he cant help but grind his hard cock against the leg of the chair. Hes pathetic but he doesnt care, he wants you to feel good, he wants to make you cum on his face. He groans into your weeping pussy as he thinks about you cumming for him.

He pulls away a little, silently begging you to remove your panties. He wants to see your pussy so bad. His pussy.

You slide down your panties to reveal your soaked cunt. Choso almost growls. He looks up at you, asking for permission to keep going. you nod, your eyes half lidded. Spoiled little princess, he thinks, and thats exactly how hes going to treat you from now on.

he leans in again, kissing your pussy and it makes a wet sound. He licks his lips and groans deeply at your taste. He starts lapping at your cunt like a dehydrated puppy. He’s making out with your pussy now, swiping his tongue all over. You can tell he’s inexperienced, but it doesn’t matter, he’s doing such a good job.

you feel so good, his tongue is too much, its all too much. You love him so much. And you cum unexpectedly, crying out his name, begging him to keep going and he whines. You thrash around and Choso keeps you steady, his strong hands grasping your hips.

After youre done he keeps licking up your cum, making sure youre cleaned.

“Choso…stop, too much,” you say softly.

He pulls away.

His face is covered in your juices, dripping all the way down his neck. And he looks so happy. He stands up, like its on instinct. He needs to hold you.

He grabs you into his arms and plop down onto the bed, with you on his chest. He squeezes you into him, kissing your hair while you slide your panties on again.

“mine,” he says softly. youre his now.

You look up at him, searching his eyes, “Choso i wanna um…you know,” you gesture to his crotch. you want to make him feel good too.

but he looks away shyly. its embarrassing and pathetic, “i um..,” he sits up with you in his lap.

He doesnt feel hard under you anymore. And then it clicks.

“oh my god did you…”

he blushes furiously and nods, “its embarrassing,” he had cum in his pants the second he put his face in your bare pussy.

“no! no…it’s really…hot,” you reason and he looks less embarrassed. He looks into your eyes then, looks at your pretty little face and he already knows he wants you to be his forever.

“do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asks nervously.

you giggle and nod eagerly, jumping on him, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling into his neck.

hes the luckiest man in the world he thinks. And you both fall asleep, you laying on his chest.

.⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

guys they didn’t actually fuck and i’m SORRY

now….part 4?? hey!!! HEY OKAY IM SORRY!! comment if yall want more ill do a lil short one where buddy ACTUALLY looses his virginity.

taglist:

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Come on,” he says, tapping your shin. His eyes linger on the way his pajama pants fit you. You don’t even fucking know what it does to him to see you prancing around in his clothes. With your eyes covered, he feels safe enough to reach down and palm his cock which is aching beneath the denim of his jeans. The little bit of friction helps and hurts all at once. “Spread ‘em.” 

“I’m shy,” you bark at him. 

The naivete would be a turn off if he didn’t know you better. In the majority of situations, you’re far from inexperienced, and he has never known you to be shy in the classroom or at parties. But after many nights similar to this (spent talking about anything and everything), he knows that you grew up in a household where sex was viewed very particularly. Those long-ingrained doctrines have been difficult to unlearn, no matter how much you want to. 

“Hey,” he says. “Just be honest with me. Don’t say yes just because you think I want to. If you don’t want to, then I don’t want to.” 

You lower your hands. “It’s not that I don’t want…to. I’m just scared.” 

Scared. Marc tends to have that effect on people; he’s been told that he’s too deadpan, too intense, too cold. You aren’t the only one holding on to a less than stellar childhood. Even though you had skirted a safe perimeter around him for the first few days you’d shared classes together, you’d been quick to see something in him that others hadn’t. Something that Marc didn’t even see in himself. Always though the fear comes creeping in, the fear that you’re afraid of him. 

He has to know—whether it hurts or not, he has to know. “What are you scared of, baby? Me? Me…accidentally hurting you like that last guy did?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. His shoulders lower but jaw remains tight. He isn’t sure if he believes you. “I know that you wouldn’t hurt me. And you’re probably a lot more careful than that other guy was. I guess I just…don’t know what you’re getting out of it. What if you think I’m disgusting?” 

“I literally spent fifteen minutes earlier waxing poetry about eating pussy. If you think I’m not going to thoroughly enjoy myself, then you’re wrong, and for what it’s worth—you could never disgust me.” Honest, too honest, Marc, some voice warns from the back of his mind. He lifts one hand to let it rest below your knee, gently clasping your shin. “If you want it, I want it. Let me make this good for you.” 

You let out a shaky sigh. His heart pounds when, marginally, your knees begin to open. Marc lets his thumb drift down from the top of your knee down and inward, breaching the newly open space and rubbing your leg softly through the flannel pajama pants. “Okay. What should I do?”

“You should probably take your pants off.” Then, he thinks about it. “No, wait, just stand up. Let me take them off of you.” 

Then you’re standing, calves pressed against the couch cushions when Marc doesn’t move back to give you any room. He’s eye level with the crotch of your pajamas. Glancing up at you, he’s surprised to see your eyes already on him, wide and unblinking, staring down at him with something akin to amazement. The moment is almost enough to make his head spin. Here he is, on his knees for you, about to undress you and put his mouth on you. 

His hands come up and rest at your waist, thumbing at your hips until he sinks his fingertips over and beneath the waistband of the pajama pants. He lets his fingers brush against the top elastic band of your panties and you shiver above him. 

And god help him. God help him because—

“Remember when I said that when a woman is really wet, you can smell her?” he rasps, pulling his thumb free to trace a vertical line from the waistband down towards the top of your mound, stopping just centimeters above where your clit must be. Feeling like he’s about to be torn apart, Marc leans in and nuzzles against the crotch of your pants. He inhales sharply the smell of you. The smell of you wet for him. “Fuck, I love it. Fuck, fuck. Can I take these off?” 

You nod, but that isn’t the enthusiasm he wants. 

“Can you say it?” 

You clear your throat. “Yes. You can take them off.” 

With all the care of handling crystal, he peels them from your hips and slips them down your thighs, eyes tracing the newly exposed skin before zeroing in on your panties. They are a pale lilac, cute and sensible compared to some of the other pairs he’s seen in the laundry hamper on the rare occasion that he lifts the lid to put his own clothes inside. He clenches his jaw trying to hold himself back from leaning in and pulling your panties down with his fucking teeth. Gentler than he feels, he guides your hips back until you sit heavily on the couch. With care, he slips the pants off of your feet and brushes them aside, kneeling up onto his knees and then resting back on his heels. 

“Open up,” he murmurs, staring at your cloth-covered cunt. “Spread your legs for me.” 

You do. As soon as your knees spread just a few handbreadths apart, Marc groans, a punched-out sound. The crotch of your panties are soaked a darker purple, clinging to your cunt so that his eyes can just barely trace your folds. 

“Holy fuck, look at you,” he says. “You’re so fucking wet, aren’t you? Look at this.” 

Both of your hands fly up to cover your eyes. He makes an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. You crack open your fingers an inch so you can look down at his raised brow. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see your face. It will help me know if I’m doing something wrong. Or something right.”

Fighting what must be your instinctual urge to hide, you lower your hands to your sides and clench them into tight fists. You’re being so brave for him, for yourself. Marc drags his palms up and down the sides of your calves, relishing the cool softness of your skin and trying to ease your tense muscles. 

“Tell me what he did wrong,” Marc says, breath fanning across your bare thighs. “How did it hurt? I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you.” 

“‘m sensitive,” you grumble. 

Marc breathes a laugh. “Yeah, it’s your pussy, I bet it’s sensitive. How sensitive, though? Was it too much when he was using his tongue? Or was he using his teeth?”

“The tongue was fine,” you say, speaking about it the way you might a mediocre appetizer you’ve been served at a restaurant. Marc holds his jealousy in a tightly closed fist. Now isn’t the time to be jealous of some young boy who couldn’t even make you feel good. Now is Marc’s turn.  “But he—oh my god, I hate you, I can’t say this shit out loud Marc.” 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, unable to help leaning in to press the softest kiss against your knee. Your chest hitches at the contact, a movement his eyes track but his mind doesn’t understand.

“He was…”

“Was…” 

“Sucking on me. On my clit. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t so anxious. If I was turned on like, at all.” 

“Consider it noted,” Marc says, refusing to pat his own back by pointing out how turned on you seem right now. Then with gentle pressure (to give you plenty a chance to refuse him) he coaxes you to spread your thighs wide and then wider. 

“Shouldn’t I take off my underwear?” you ask.

“Not if you might be too sensitive,” says Marc. “Come here. Slouch down.” 

You shift around, but not nearly low enough for his liking. So he slips his hands beneath you, cupping your ass and pulling until your cunt is at the edge of the couch, inches from his waiting mouth. The squeal you give has him pursing his lips to keep from laughing. His strength always seems to surprise you.

Gazing up at you, he waits for you to nod before he turns his head and lays a soft kiss on the tender skin inside your thigh. Above him, you exhale shakily. The feeling of your skin beneath his lips has his head buzzing. He begins dragging his mouth upwards, his kisses growing ever-more open mouthed until he is blatantly tasting your skin. His eyes flicker shut as he inhales noisily, the scent of your arousal making his cock twitch. He switches thighs. 

A sound slips through the back of your throat, something high and breathy. A whine. Marc’s eyes flash open at the sound, flickering all across your face for any hint of pain. But he doesn’t find it. If anything, you look fucked out: mouth parted, eyes heavy lidded. He hasn’t even fucking touched you.

I can do this, he thinks. I can make you feel good.

He softly sucks blood to the surface of your skin until you can’t seem to sit still, thighs tensing beneath his mouth. When he opens his eyes, your panties are even wetter. Enough teasing the both of you, he thinks. He shifts and drags the tip of his curved nose up the seam of your clothed cunt, nudging so softly against the apex.

“Oh my god,” you mutter above him, sounding about as wrecked as some of his past partners did when he was already finished with them.

He’s losing it. He can feel it, the threads of his control fraying beneath the sharp edges of his desire for you. Never does he think that he wouldn’t be able to stop if you asked him to or if you gave any indication that you weren’t enthusiastically enjoying his work, but he wants to make sure that you know you’re in control. You’re in control of him, no matter how consumed he appears. 

“If you want me to stop, you say the fucking word okay?” he rasps. His lips brush against your underwear and come away faintly sticky with slick. He doesn’t even let himself lick it from his lips, not yet. “And if I’m not stopping fast enough for your liking, gouge my goddamn eyes out, you hear me?” 

He waits until you give a frantic bob of your head. Then he licks the flat of his tongue up the soaked crotch of your panties. It’s hard to tell who groans loudest. You taste good. His jaw aches the way it does when he sucks on something sweet, mouth salivating. He laps at you again and again, careful not to be too forceful. Your thighs clench tight around his head and he has to pull them away and pin them open wide to the couch so that he can move the way he wants to. 

“Is—am I—” Marc begrudgingly opens his eyes to see you struggling to speak. He struggles to keep his gaze on you. The taste of you in his mouth, the feel of your warm skin beneath his hands, the serenity of this moment all has his eyes wanting to roll back. It takes a herculean effort to pull his mouth from you, to lay his head on your thigh taking deep breaths through his nose while waiting for you to collect your thoughts. You finally manage to ask: “Am I—gross?”

Marc blinks. “Are you gross? Baby who the hell hurt you?”

It’s your turn to blink down at him. “What?”

“Who in the fuck has put you so deep inside your head that you can’t see I’m sixty seconds away from cumming in my pants because you taste so fucking good? Because you smell so fucking good? Because you sound so fucking good? You know what. Don’t answer that—” Marc reaches backwards towards the coffee table, finding the flier he’d written on earlier: HOMETOWN DICK is scrawled there. He slaps it on the couch cushion beside you along with the capless pen. “—write it down if you can and I’ll get to them later.”

He lets saliva pool on his tongue before his next lick of you. Between his spit and your own slick, your thighs are wet and sticky, panties soaked. He can’t help but reach up to tug upwards at the waistband just a bit, just so the fabric rides up flush against your pussy so he can see every last curve and fold of you. The stimulation of the fabric must feel good because you whine—honest to god whine, your pelvis giving the most adorable little arches as you try to decide whether to press into the stimulation or press away from it so that his hand draws the fabric against you tighter. 

Marc has to let go to keep your thighs spread as they try to creep in closer to his ears. His eyes are shut as he laps at you with long, firm strokes, alternating directions, doing his best to be gentle in case you’re as sensitive as you think. Periodically he glances up to make sure you’re okay, and that is when he notices the way your hands are clenched into fists, shaking with the force you’re using to keep them still. He reaches out. Your fingers are cool beneath his, and at the first touch, your hand opens up, blossoming like a flower so he can lace your fingers together. He smiles against your pussy—he hadn’t intended to hold hands, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn it down. 

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says. He gently shakes his head from side to side letting the flat of his tongue rub against your clit. Your gasp makes your chest heave, fingers clamping down around his. Fuck, yes. You just need something you can pull on. “C’me on, baby, you can get rough with me.” 

Your eyes are wet, wide as you shakily move your hands to his hair. The feel of your fingers in his curls is divine. His lashes flutter. “Yeah?” you breathe. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Hurt me, baby, I love it, okay?” 

You tug a little. His cock jerks where it’s still confined in denim. “But what if you need to breathe?” 

“Don’t care,” he says. “Drown me in your pussy, I do not fucking care. Okay?” 

“Ma-arc,” you whine, thighs spasming. “God Marc, please—” 

He groans, pausing to lap at your thighs, to clean up the mess he’s making. “Please what, baby? I’ll give you anything, just ask for it.” 

“Just—don’t stop, please—” 

And he doesn’t. He has no plans to. Not when his scalp is alight with the way you pull at every new movement of his tongue, not when you’re so fucking vocal, whining his name and little pleas and nonsensical strings of words that will forever echo in his brain. He doesn’t know how you manage to touch yourself so quietly at night when you think he’s asleep, when the only indications he gets that you’re touching yourself at all are the little shifts of the bed, the way you hold your breath before you cum, and (sometimes, on nights when you must be really, really worked up) the occasional wet sound of your fingers slipping over your clit.

“Marc, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp. 

Marc’s heart stutters in his chest. He finds one of his hands lowering, aching to press a finger or two inside of you so that he can feel the clench of your pussy when he pushes you over the edge. But that’s just another good reason why he left your panties on; the last thing he needs is to push your boundaries in the heat of the moment, to lose his head and maybe take a liberty that would hurt you. He lets his thumb press against your soaked panties though, notching itself against your entrance even through the fabric. His jaw aches, legs numb from where he’s kneeling on them, but nothing could stop him now. Nothing. 

He focuses on the aching little knot of your clit, letting his tongue rasp over it until your back bows off of the couch, your breath stuttering and then stopping altogether the way he’s already so familiar with. Your fingers spasm in his hair, nearly losing your grip and then you’re pulling him closer, his nose pressed into your pubic bone, thighs shivering and shaking while you give a short cry. 

You came. You are cumming. Because of him. For him. He can feel the way your entrance spasms beneath the firm press of his thumb, and he lets himself imagine how that would feel around his cock. There’s no harm in just thinking about it. If thinking it were a sin, Marc’s soul would be lost long ago. 

Just as he expects you to come down, he finds you doing the opposite. 

“Don’t stop, don’t don’t, please, I can cum again—can I? Please—” 

Marc lets out a broken moan, nodding his head. Fuck it does things to him, hearing you beg, hearing you ask him for permission, like he has more of a say when you cum than you do. But you are pushing him back suddenly, and he jerks away as if he has been burned, eyes wide—had he had a time-slip? Had he missed something, some indication that you really wanted him to stop and not continue?

But all you do is shift your hips up, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and wrenching them down over your thighs, knees, tossing them to the side. He pulls his eyes away from where he’s dying to let them rest so that he can look at your face: damp at your temples, lips swollen from biting them. Your chest is heaving, and out of the corner of his eye he sees your hands clutch into fists again, suddenly anxious, exposed—

Exposed for him. Because you wanted to be. Because you chose to be. 

Marc lets his eyes fall, takes in your swollen pussy, slick with your own cum, and not to get fucking philosophical, but he’s pretty sure that it’s going to change his life. He wants it. He wants his mouth on it. He finds himself being drawn in like your pussy is a fucking siren and he’s ready to dash his ship on the fucking rocks just to drown in it happily. He barely manages to stop himself at the last moment.

“Can I?” he rasps. 

“Please,” you groan. 

He swipes his tongue from your entrance to your clit. Your taste is so much more concentrated like this, a little salt and a little sweet. He can’t help but press his tongue inside you as deep as your pussy will allow, his head nearly spinning when he feels the way you clench down softly, like you’re trying to keep him inside you. Then there is a sharp tug of his hair as you drag him back upwards a fraction. 

“My clit, please, pleasepleaseplease—” 

His eyes nearly roll. Fuck, he loves when you’re a little bossy. He loves when you’re confident, loves to see you chasing what feels good without letting your insecurities get in the way. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks sweetly, letting his tongue flicker over it. Only a few moments have passed since your last orgasm, and it’s clear that you’re heading towards another with the way your nails dig into his scalp, your breaths coming more and more stuttered. Beneath your breath, all you can repeat is fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck. 

This time when you cum, you shriek. The volume of it clearly surprises you because it sends you into trilling peels of laughter that have him grinning even as he struggles to focus on prolonging your pleasure, letting his teeth graze over you just to see the way your laughter cuts off and your back arches, a gasp pulled from deep within your chest. 

“Holy fuck, Marc,” you gasp wetly. “Oh my god. I want to go for a third. Can I?” 

“Fuck, you’re one of those girls,” he laughs breathily. “And you thought you were too sensitive. Yeah, baby. Three for three sounds good.” 

This time his jaw just can’t keep up. You don’t seem to mind when braces a hand against your lower tummy and lets his thumb rub the slick little nub. The exhaustion of your all-nighter has clearly caught up to the both of you. He nearly loses himself watching the way your thighs go lax, utterly relaxed in your pleasure. Your head tilts on your neck like you can’t keep it up straight. Your lashes rest against your cheeks as you breathe out his name and ask so fucking sweetly, would you put a finger in me?

“Need something to clench down on?” Marc wonders, resting his head on your thigh. “Is your poor little pussy empty?” 

“Uh-huh,” is all you can whisper back. “Feels good to have someth’n inside when I cum.” 

“I’ll bet it does,” he whispers back. Gently, so gently, he eases a finger into you. You’re burning hot, slick and soft. Your orgasms have you so relaxed around him, he immediately knows that you could take another of his fingers. Two seems to offer you the stretch you want, because your shoulders sag in relief, walls clenching around him. 

When you cum for the last time, Marc gets to feel it. Wrung dry as you are, your pussy does nothing but give soft little spasms around his fingers as he flexes them and rubs the slick textured walls inside you. Your thighs twitch, a low whine rising in the back of your throat as he overstimulates you. But he can’t help it. He wants every last moment of your pleasure. He wants to commit every moment to memory in case this is all he ever gets from you, in case after graduation you move away and it’s all he has left of you. 

When Marc pulls his fingers free, he doesn’t hesitate to tuck them into his mouth and suck them clean. Your eyes are shut, head reclining back against the couch, thighs still spread as far as he forced them open. Your poor pussy looks so sensitive, so fucked out and fucked open by him. 

The need rises up in him, a tsunami wave that blocks out the sun. He’s been ignoring his cock for so long—during what is without question the most amazing sexual experience of his life, no less—and now the desperation becomes almost a frenzy. He has to get to the bathroom so that he can jerk off, posthaste. He doesn’t care if it’s improper, doesn’t care if it’s all too obvious to you what he’s doing. 

Marc stumbles away from you on his knees, palms hitting the floor to keep himself balanced. He catches sight of his fingers, still wet from where he had sucked them clean, and a sound slips from the back of his throat: high and desperate. The little movement he’s made has brushed his cock against the denim and pushed him incrementally closer to that edge. 

“Marc?” 

The bathroom is right there—

“Marc—” 

—he can see it, see the door cracked open, see the silly little night light you put in there, the one that keeps him from constantly banging his hip on the sharp edge of the sink—

“Marc.” 

He has stopped his forward movement, he realizes. He has fallen to one elbow, his other hand fumbling at the button of his jeans, but his fingers are clumsy and exhausted and shaking with how badly he needs to cum, so he just says fuck it, just reaches down and rubs himself over the denim. The attention after so much neglect has him gasping wetly. He let himself lower the last few inches until he is laying on the floor, lets himself tip onto his back until he is looking up at the cheap fluorescent lighting doing his to jerk himself off through the restrictive denim—

And he sees you, sitting upright on the couch with your eyes on him, face slack. 

Yeah, he cums. Right then, looking at you, at the haze in your eyes and the hair plastered to your forehead. He cums so hard his eyes roll back, cums so hard that it hurts, cums so hard that he knows a little piece of his soul slips out of his body and will forever rest there in Dorm Room E12. There will be a monument there, useless though no less momentous for it, like Plymouth Rock or the Liberty Bell. It will let future generations know that this is where Marc Spector saw God. 

He lays there on the floor panting. Slowly your face comes into view above him. You’ve tugged your pants back on. 

“Are you…okay?” you ask. 

He holds up his thumb. 

The smile you give him is wobbly, and the next ten minutes the two of you spend cleaning up the apartment (after Marc ducks into the bathroom and changes his pants, thanks) are painful with how quiet you are. When you crawl into bed, you pull the blankets up so high that all he can see is your hair, facing the wall.

Maybe he should have known that this would happen. Common sense could have forewarned him that eating out your best friend might lead to some internal conflict. While it was happening, he would have told himself that no matter the consequences, it was worth it, but now he isn’t sure. He crosses to his bed, sheds his shirt, and is just about to slip between the sheets when he sees it: a neat little folded square of pale purple fabric, tucked just beneath the edge of his pillow. He pulls your panties free and clutches them in one fist, heart pounding. It had to have been an accident—except it couldn’t have been. You must not have done it on purpose—but then how could you have done it at all? He brings them up to his face and smells the scent of your slick. They’re still damp, for fuck’s sake.