#(gimme

It sounds a little cheesy, cliche even, but you really don’t remember how you ended up here. So you try to backtrack.

Today was your birthday. A day that, a while ago now, you’d lost basically all excitement for. Disregarding it bitterly as just the day you grow a year older. Maybe you’ll get one or two gifts from your family that just reminds you that they’ve bought them out of courtesy rather than want — the type of gifts that tell you that, really, they don’t know you at all.

So yeah, your birthday is a little depressing. Don’t even get me started on Christmas.

It was Leon who’d asked you, a whopping 5 months prior, what you wanted for your ‘special day’. The question had stumped you. You can’t remember being asked that since you were a child, a catalogue being shoved into your little hands along with a pen to circle what you wanted. Of course, it was always ridiculous and overpriced things that was never bought for you, unsurprisingly. Then after a while, the catalogue was replaced with a laptop, until the annual question seemed to cease altogether when you turned 18.

When Leon asked you, you stared at him blankly, trying to come up with something. You always seem to mentally put aside things you need, thinking ‘I’ll buy it for my birthday’ or ‘I’ll ask for this’, but then when the time finally comes, all of it seems to evaporate from your memory. Until after your birthday. And the cycle repeats every year. “Surprise me.” You’d settled on, the words feeling foreign and burdening in your mouth, and instead of scoffing like your parents would, he smiled, patted your head, and whispered “Okay.”

5 months later, and now you’re here. Your day. Your special day.

You’re sat on the couch beside Leon, knees crossed, the bottom of your pyjama pants riding up to your knees. Remnants of sleep coating the corners of your eyes due to being so hastily woken by your boyfriend a few minutes ago. The morning sun is shining obnoxiously through the window, draping the living room in a breathy, peaceful light.

Your attention is fixated on the small pile of presents in front of you, on the floor. Wrapped so carefully, the colour of the paper your favourite. A gift bag that looks full but not bulky, a card with your name on it placed neatly on top of the biggest gift.

You don’t mean to be such a sap. But how were you supposed to not well up at this?

Your eyes stung, hot tears beginning to blur your vision as you fisted your shirt like a child. When was the last time someone had done this for you? Nostalgia flashed, making your eyebrows twitch. You hadn’t even opened the presents yet, for all you know he could’ve gotten you something you’re not interested in at all, like a tarantula. Or, God forbid, a cook book. But it didn’t matter. Not when this is the most anyone has done for you in years, including yourself. You love him so much.

You look away from the presents, glassy eyes finding his as he shifts closer. He looks concerned, brows furrowed together in confusion as he lifts a thumb to wipe the stray tear that’s fallen. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Your lips curl into a smile, barely, and there are so many things you want to say. For now, you just reply with a soft, “thank you.”

He smiles to match your own, his hand that’s up resting on your cheek. “That’s alright, baby.” His other reaches up to gently pull on the back of your shoulder. “C’mere, gimme a hug.”

Your arms wrap around his middle as you rest your cheek on his chest, closing your eyes and inhaling. His big arms are around your shoulders, holding you so close and gentle that it’s unfair. His lips ghost your forehead so softly that you think you imagined it.

You stay there for a minute, holding him, thanking him.

After a while, he rubs your back gently, and you pull away. Your eyes are barely dry now, and excitement bubbles in your stomach as you look back over to the pile. Your pile.

And so, you let Leon strap a party hat to your head (despite your relentless protests), and you slide to sit on the floor. You read his card, that’s so goofy and so heartfelt and so him that you just start crying all over again. You open your presents, and for the first time in a long time, you cherish each and every one of them.

The day passes in a flash. You let Leon snap a picture of you in your pyjamas with your party hat and an awkward smile (you’d been stood there for a long 3 minutes while he figured out why the camera was facing him). Then you got in the shower, then he got in the shower, and pinned your hips to the cold tile walls so he could eat you out like a man starved in peace. Then you put on some fresh clothes, put on the new shoes he’d bought you, and went shopping. His treat.

You don’t remember much of it. You remember him having to convince you to let him carry all the bags, and to pick out more than $10 worth of stuff. You remember having fun. More fun than you’d had on your birthday in a long time.

Before you know it, you’re at dinner. Real fancy place, the kind that you two would only go to on special occasions — something Leon had to remind you that your birthday was when you protested the expenses.

A candle in the middle of the table flickered softly as a group of people walked by, painting Leon in soft, ambient hues. His usually bright blue eyes looked darker here, his hair almost looked fully brown with no traces of the blonde that you love. He looked beautiful.

It was romantic. Unsurprising, you knew your Leon was a romantic at heart after all. But still, more so than usual. He held your hand throughout, keeping his eyes settled on you with a soft, almost reverent smile adorning his lips. At one point, he’d even lifted your hand to them and kissed your knuckles — whispering those three words that made your heart melt and brain freeze.

And as he asked for the bill, you watched him, mentally declaring there and then that you’d love him forever. And you’d try to put this day back on that pedestal that it was on when you were younger. For him, because it seemed to mean so much.

Now you remember how you ended up here.

With one side of your face buried in the pillow, drool causing your hair to stick to your cheek uncomfortably. One of your hands clutches the same pillow, so tight that it hurts, knuckles turning white, the other engulfed by Leon’s own.

His hips snap up into yours so ferociously it’s borderline feral, each thrust jolting you further into the mattress. He’s got you in a mean position, laying practically his entire weight onto you as he fucks you like he’s deranged.

His pretty sounds spill into your ear, deep moans and, if you listen closely, soft whimpers filling the already suffocating air around the two of you. The hand that isn’t holding yours grips the flesh of your hip, gripping it so tight that you’re certain you’ll be finding bruises later down the line.

“Fuck— oh, fuuuck, just like that, baby..” He grunts, his breath hot on the back of your neck. You’re practically panting for air like a dog, mindlessly moaning and whining as you feel him snap his hips sharper, going deeper, ravaging that spot inside you that makes you feel like you’re floating.

“Leon,” you gasped, feeling another orgasm rapidly approaching you like a bull in a ring. How many now? You feel as if no time has passed since your last. Your hips bucked back into his, simultaneously to escape the overwhelming pleasure, and to chase it. “I’m— I’m gonna..”

“I know, honey, I know.” Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? You’re beginning to think he knows your body better than you do. “Cmon, cum for me, baby… jus’ let go for me, yeah?”

His pace grows impossibly faster, hips slamming down with such intensity that the headboard smacks the wall in tandem with his thrusts — deepening the dent that’s already caved into the wall. The lewd sound of slick skin making contact over and over and over becomes deafeningly loud, and you turn your head slightly to bite down into the pillowcase to muffle your scream.

“Come on,” He repeats, urging you. His voice is hoarse, whiny even, as he nears his own peak. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby… cmon, cum. Cum.”

And who are you, if not obedient. Your climax slams into you like a fucking horse, your spent cunt impossibly clenching around Leon’s cock so tight that his hips stutter, his pace faltering.

“Ohh, good girl. Such a good girl. That’s it, isn’t it? That feel good? Hm? You like that?” He whimpers, thrusts growing sloppier with every pulse of your walls around him. You nod, barely even registering what he’s saying, but just wanting to be good for him.

Vaguely, you can hear something clattering off of the bedside table — likely a result of the bed shaking in such a manner. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you make a mental note to ensure your earphone case has no more cracks since last time. Although, your focus doesn’t remain on it for long, if at all, and soon you’re dragged back into the moment. Leon’s head has dropped further so that his nose is buried in the curve of your neck, desperately gasping as his pace grows nonsensical as he nears his umpteenth peak of the night.

“Baby… babybabybaby… fuck, that’s it, atta girl, take it… jus’ keep taking it, like that…” The praise makes your sensitive cunt flutter around him, and the choked sound he makes is just delectable. The hand that’s been gripping your hip moves suddenly, coming down with a crack on the headboard as he groans deep in his chest, trying to maintain his composure.

His hand stays there, gripping the wood, quietening the shaking of the thing. “God.. you’re so good for me, so fucking good-” he whined, hips twitching. His head moved quick, drool-coated lips pressing against your temple, your hairline that’s soaked in sweat, the slither of cheekbone he can reach. “Gonna cum, baby… gonna fill you up. Want that? Hm?”

You nodded, moving your head to the side to look at him. Your eyes were glassy with overstimulated tears as you felt that familiar burn in your abdomen again.

“Say it,” He urged. You opened your mouth, but could only wrench a sob from your throat. His cock twitched in you, pulling a pleasured sigh from both of you. He brought his hand from the headboard, lightly slapping your head twice. “Don’t make me repeat myself, girl, cmon.”

“I want it! Wan’ you to fill me so I’m full, baby…” You were babbling, your words sounding broken and a little dumb. Still, Leon’s eyes rolled back into his skull, the hand that’s been holding yours this whole time squeezing it tightly.

“Oh my- oh fuck- that’s it, baby, yes- yeah, I’m- fuuuck, m’spillin’-” The words came out choked and strained, his sweaty forehead dropping to your shoulder as he came. You panted, feeling his spend fill your already-full cunt. Your lips curled into a dazed smile, relishing in the bliss.

Leon was gasping, practically hyperventilating as he tried to catch his breath. “Jesus.. you’re something else, babe..” he whispered between heaves, pressing kisses to where he could without moving. His free hand rubbed soothingly over your back, muttering about how you did so good, as always, for him.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He sighed happily, pressing kisses along your neck, your jaw, your earlobe, your temple, and then your forehead. “I love you.”

Your eyes fluttered, trying not to grimace at the feeling of the drenched sheets beneath you, sticking on and peeling from your bare body. Trying not to wince at how he’s still rock hard inside you. “I love you too.”

“oh- oh god, oh fuck. wow. wow-ah..” dennis gasped out softly, his voice raspy and hoarse, his cheek smushed against the pillow he was holding with a white knuckled grip. he was lying on his stomach, breath heavy.

this was only one of the many positions you have had him in already.

“tapping out yet?” you say breathlessly, your hands on his hips, just above his ass as you pulled your cock out, right before pushing it back in. dennis trembled and whined meekly, shaking his head as best as he could. “n—no, nuh uh..”

“...perfect, then.” you whisper, one hand sliding up his spine to grip the back of his neck. it was then that your pace sped up a little, thrusts more punctuated, brutal and sharp. “such a good boy. good boy, dennis.”

your quiet words earned another full body shiver with a high pitched keen, his back arching even if the action was stuttery. in all honesty, he was spent. tired. fucked out of his mind. sweaty to no end, muscles aching. but he couldn’t rid himself of the need to feel you, your cock, inside him.

pressing him harder into the mattress, you sit up to shift the angle, shoving your cock in deeper, coaxing even more throaty moans from the younger man underneath you.

dennis squirmed, turning his head to the side. his eyebrows were stitched together, eyes shut tight, lips parted. saliva was dribbling down his chin, onto the pillow as he kept making those pretty little whimpers and moans. “h-harder.. mmh!—” he managed, biting his lower lip when a more shrewd thrust made the tip of your cock brush against his prostate. not the first time that has happened tonight. but what a brat. he was asking for it harder when he had a puddle of drool on the pillow?

“no, dennis.” you respond, keeping your thrusts the same. it was difficult when his hole sucked you in and clenched around you like that. “you take what you get. you don’t ask for more. it’s disrespectful.” you say as you lean over his back, eyes boring into the back of his head.

“sorry.. sorry, i know. i just—ah—think you can do.. better. r-rougher.” he says innocently, looking at you from the corner of his half lidded eye. “..doctor robby cou—”

“don’t do that.” you cut him off flatly. “don’t bite the hand that feeds you. not gonna end well.” it pissed you off. the mention of doctor robby during your time. it made you just want to drill your cock so deep in him, to make him scream and cry. but that was exactly what he wanted. it was a trap and you very well knew it.