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“Matty! Get the fuck up you absolute wanker! I want to leave!” You smirk through your words despite the false anger painting them, punctuating your sentence by tossing a pillow over at a peacefully sleeping Matty, splayed across your couch.

“Oi!” He groans, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s a bloody Friday, and we’re going out.” There’s no hint of a question in your voice, and Matty knows it. When you’re in the mood to party, there is no force, no matter how strong, that can stop you. Thankfully, Matty is exactly the same way. Maybe some would call it reckless; you just call it living. 

Matty rolls over, pushing his face further into the cushion. He had dozed off about an hour ago, practically seconds after he had arrived at your house. You had spent the time rustling through clothing and makeup, before settling on a lacy dress with some fishnets underneath. Your hair was teased and half up; your eyes painted in black and silver glitter, with your lips a deep maroon. You watched as Matty slowly rolled over, opening his eyes to see you towering over him. A smirk paints his face as he takes your frame in, eyes greedily mapping up from your thighs to your tits.

“Oi, eyes up here, Healy,” you snap, a laugh slipping out at the end. You liked this. Being here, in your house, with him. When the sun had long set and the only lights in the room were flushed pinks and neon purples. When the glitter on your eyelids caught his gaze in the glimmering rays of fluorescence. 

Matty grins. You grin right back.

“So, where the fuck did you say we’re going to?” Matty’s voice is painted with the last reminisce of sleep, his appearance showing it much more heavily. He had been absolutely knackered when he arrived, likely tired from a long day of doing god knows what with god knows who. But, when he was here? None of that mattered. He could rest with you; rest in the uncertainty and the sureness and the sane-madness of it all. Of you two.

“The woods.”

“The woods?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Matty raises an eyebrow, squinting slightly.

“What do you mean ‘the woods’?”

“So, the woods are this place where there are loads of trees and they– oi!” Matty tosses the same pillow you had previously thrown at him back in your direction, hitting you across the chest.

“I know what the bloody woods are, Jesus," he laughs, “I meant what the fuck are we doing in the woods?”

You laugh, fixing up your now tousled hair.

“Some girl Ross has been messing around with and her mates are throwing a thing there, he texted me and said we should come.”

Matty scoffs, leaning back with a groan.

“How the fuck does Ross get more girls than I do?” He protests, “I mean, he’s fucking massive– he’s pratically a beast!”

You glare at Matty through mascara covered lashes, “Matty, you literally shagged me yesterday.”

Matty freezes, a blush finding his cheeks. 

“T-that’s different.”

“Oh?” 

Your voice is dripping in faux-intrigue, as if you are desperate to hear Matty’s pathetic interpretation of whatever this was.

“I-” he starts, “this feels like a trap.”

You smirk, taking a step closer.

“W-what do you want me to say?” He murmurs hesitantly.

You stop mere centimeters from him, slotting yourself between his stretched legs.

“I think I like you best when you’re not saying anything at all, Healy.”

Matty bites on his lip, consequently dragging a smile from you. You run a sure hand over his clothed thigh, stopping when your eyes gaze down to find him already half hard and straining against the black denim. 

You liked having him like this. It was much easier to pretend he was yours when you had him squirming under your fingertips than when his side of your bed was empty and his lips were kissing another girls’.

“Pathetic– pull yourself together, mate.”

You turn, leaving his breathing heavy and uneven.

‘Mate’.

Matty rakes a hand through his unruly curls as he catches his breath.

“I hate you,” he manages to gasp out.

“Yet, you’re in my house?” You smirk, touching up your lipstick.

You turn back, taking a firm hold of his wrist in your palm, relishing in the way he looks utterly and entirely affected by your barely-there touches.

“C’mon,” you start, “I don’t want all the beer to be gone by the time we get there!”

You hear something like a groan covered by an incredibly un-slick cough escape Matty’s mouth, drawing your gaze to his direction.

“What was that, Healy?”

You make a point of letting your eyes fall heavy onto his trousers, somehow looking even tighter now over the obvious bulge that had formed.

You smirk as his eyes follow yours, snapping back quickly to your face. He knows far better than to test you when you get like this– all irritated and domineering. He also knows that things are much more likely to go his way if he just sits back and lets you handle him.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.” you give his wrist a squeeze, accompanied by a sickly sweet smile.

You feel his pulse jump under your fingers.

God, how you loved the feeling of his skin against yours; heartbeat dancing.

God, how he loved your shimmering eyelids; pupils sharp as blades.

God, how you love whatever this is.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pink and blue lights prance across your field of vision as you stumble into the woods, Matty’s hand still tightly in yours. 

The walk was quick– not nearly long enough to constitute a drive. Plus, the extra few minutes gave you the opportunity to smoke the spliff you had rolled earlier that afternoon without prying, greedy hands of partygoers trying to get a hit or two.

The sky had long gone dark, the silhouette of tall, winding branches all that was left above you.

Hazy warmth blushes through your blood and tingles at your fingertips, brushing mindless circles into Matty’s skin.

Ribbons dangled from low-hanging branches; you watch as Matty twirls one around his digits with his free hand.

“Reckon we’re getting close, now?” Matty asks, temporarily pulling you out of your cloudyminded state.

“Yeah, I hear music I think,” you respond airily, mind in the clouds.

You catch a smirk spread across Matty’s face as you speak.

It was no secret how funny he found it that even after all of these years of doing god knows what together, you were still a proper lightweight. Or, at least, compared to him, that was.

He openly reveled in your foggy state of mind, rarely holding back from teasing you.

More often than not, he was still met with quite the retaliatory effort from you– even when high out of your mind. He found it cute. You knew he did.

Another few steps ahead, you feel as though you have been smacked with sound; heavy bass and streaming light wash over the both of you as the crowds distort into a murky swamp of colour and sweat.

Matty spots Ross before you do, signaling you with a squeeze of your palm.

“Oi! Ross!” He shouts out, his hand dropping yours suddenly in favour of creating a make-shift megaphone with his palms. “Oi! Over here!”

After a few more shouts from the both of us, Ross turns to face us, a lazy smile plastered onto his face.

You turn to Matty, voice low, “god, he’s already bloody hammered, isn’t he?”

Matty grins, “let’s hope so– I was bored anyways.”

“Y/N!!” Ross nearly shouts, slurring the last syllable, “You came! And, you brought Healy!”

You keep your cool tone, any remnants of your previous height sinking lower and lower as you realize you and Matty are the significantly more sober parties in the conversation.

“Yes, Ross,” you start, “you invited us.”

“Right– of course.”

Matty squints slightly, eyes locked onto Ross’s mouth.

“Is that…lipstick?”

You let out a gaspy laugh as you focus your eyes, several smeared streaks of purple and red painted across Ross’s face and neck. Maybe he really was getting some action.

“Oh, you can fuck right off,” he sneers, wiping his face with an obvious lack of dexterity, “it’s a party for god’s sake!”

Matty laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Oh, we know.” He smirks suggestively, pulling you closer, arm finding your waist and squeezing slightly, pulling a sharp laugh from your parted lips.

Ross was no stranger to your somewhat-odd public displays of affection; nonetheless, he never failed to look endlessly disgusted by it. God, he really didn’t know the half of it.

He didn’t know the way you had Matty squirming for you at the simple brush of your hands.

The way the hair stood up on his arms when you whispered how ‘good’ he was after what seemed like lifetimes of bringing him right to the edge, but never quite letting him fall off.

The way he liked his hair pulled and back mauled by your sharp nails when he was feeling needy.

He certainly didn’t know how much you enjoyed it; how much you thought about it. 

How much you wondered if it was all just a game to him.

“Save some of the chicks for the rest of us, mate– seriously it’s unfair,” Matty groans. His hands are still on you. You cringe ever so slightly; he doesn’t notice.

“Piss off,” Ross huffs, “I’m getting another drink.” He disappears into the crowd; the wall of rubbing fabric and sparkling makeup generates enough heat to draw a bead of sweat down Matty’s forehead despite your intentional distance from the epicenter.

“So,” Matty turns to you, eyes glittering, “I guess Ross is a bit too preoccupied to hang ‘round with us, then?”

You smile, rolling your shoulders softly as you try to shake off all of the damn thinking you’ve been doing. This was a party, afterall.

“Fuckin’ loud here,” Matty complains, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly, “Fancy sitting down somewhere?”

It was funny– for two people who seemingly went out constantly, you and Matty seemed to always end up tucked away somewhere; a corner, a bathroom, or as you were now, backs pressed against an oak tree, hidden away from the flashing lights and streamers hung over branches.

Matty had lit another spliff, all while complaining that you had ‘hogged the first oneI’. Classic.

He takes a slow, lazy drag, letting the smoke curl into the cool evening air. 

The skin of your back is prickled by the bark of the tree, your hair slightly caught in the moss. You glance over– Matty looks…God.

Matty looks beautiful: lips plush and wrapped around the filter, eyes a bit red at the corners. His hair is a mess, and his cheeks glitter softly, likely with some highlighter he snagged from your makeup bag.

You smile– if not for your growing desire swirling low in your stomach, (only perpetuated by the earlier high and the shots you had downed before secluding yourself deeper into the forest), then for your sheer gratitude for getting to see him like this.

Matty looked like a puppy– no, maybe that wasn’t right.

Maybe he looked more like a deer.

He was strong and slender– pale and ashy.

He carried everything that was dark and gave out to the world only that which was light.

You snatch the spliff from his fingers, taking a long drag of your own before passing it back to him, blowing smoke across his face as you did.

“You look pretty, Healy.”

Matty’s eyes catch yours, but he doesn’t dare respond.

He knows this is a losing game; you’re both high, but more than that, you’re both here. You’re here as one. He’s been with you enough times to know that if he wants to feel good when you’re like this, he needs to sit back and let you.

“Look at you.” you coo, eyes scanning over his body like he was prey. If he was a deer, then you were a hunter. “Having fun?”

Matty nods, and you swear you can see desire swirling across his blacked-out pupils.

“Thought so,” you move closer, thighs pressing against his, “you always look so pretty when you’re having fun, baby.”

Matty has to actively fight the moan-like-sound that stirs in his throat at the petname– knowing that if he made any wrong moves, you would leave him needy and reeling. 

You run a sure finger up Matty’s chest, stopping when your digit reaches his chin. You lean forward, pressing your painted lips against his, only pulling back to see the stain that the red had left behind. Your deer, marked with blood, the wounds of your arrows.

“Tell me what you want.”

Matty makes a grumbled noise, a greedy hand snaking around your back in a sad attempt to plant you atop his lap.

“Words, pretty boy,” you stay cemented beside him, not moving in the slightest until you get what you want, “need to hear you, you know that.”

Matty bites down on his lip, discarding the burnt-down joint beside him before placing his attention onto you. For a moment, you wonder if he is genuinely lost for words– he just sits there looking at you blankly; a deer in fucking headlights.

“Need some help?” You smile sweetly as you run your hand back down his chest, stopping just before the waistline of his jeans, and making a point of noticing the bulge forming beneath them.

“When did this happen?” You smirk, tapping once on his clothed hardness.

Matty near moans as you do, body shivering at even the slightest contact.

“‘Dunno…” Matty manages to gasp out, voice weak and unsure. He was too damn cute like this– all malleable and airy-headed in your hands. You could practically feel his brains melting right out of his ears as you began to palm him through the denim, coaxing a groan from his pink lips.

“Want me to touch you like this, gorgeous?”

You watch with hunger in your eyes as Matty nods aggressively, eyes screwed shut tightly in pleasure.

Suddenly, your hands are off him– a weak sob falling from Matty’s mouth in response.

“Need to hear you say it, ‘kay?” The corners of your mouth perk up as you watch Matty process the request in real time. It never failed to amaze you just how gone he became every time you took control. A deer running for his life in the forest.

“N-need you to touch me,” he pleads, eyes beginning to tear up as he thrusts helpless against nothing. He is straining intensely against the fabric of his jeans, and you can tell it is nearly cutting off circulation. “I-i’m so hard it hurts…just need to– ah!”

You cut him off before he can plead any more, unzipping his fly and relieving the slightest bit of pressure. You tap his hip twice and he raises it, allowing you to slip the tight-black garment down his slender thighs. 

You run a hand over his hard cock, noticing a dark spot where the precum had already stained the dark fabric. You stroke him through the fibers, watching with a grin as he melts into the wood behind him.

“Wanna see you, pretty boy,” you lean close, pressing your lips into the soft skin below his ear, “is that okay?”

“Mhm…please…need you,” Matty’s voice is lighter than before. All of his characteristic cocky-confidence is entirely lost under the heat of your hands.

You slide your fingers under the fabric of his underwear, letting his throbbing dick slap back against his stomach. You shift onto his lap, straddling him with a practiced ease.

Matty opens his deep, brown eyes for the first time in minutes, and you swear he nearly faints when he sees the sight. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you two slept together, touched each other, or did anything for that matter– Matty looked like a kid on Christmas every time he got to see you.

A creeping thought weaves its way into your head– did he look like this with the other girls too?

A soft gasp falling from Matty’s mouth pulls you back into reality as he ruts his hips against yours. You smirk, letting him chase his pleasure momentarily before stilling his movements with your steady hands.

“Did I say you could move?”

Matty stills, fear and something that looked rather like arousal painting his expression. He shakes his head no. You smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you press a kiss onto his forehead, skin warm against your lips, “now be a good boy and stay still for me, alright? Gonna use you since you’ve been so damn needy.”

Matty mewls as you begin to stroke him, not before spitting with an obscene groan onto your hand.

Dirty, slick noises fill the night air, the only other noise audible being the faint sound of trashy house music from the party that the pair of you had long abandoned.

The sight below you is near pornographic: Matty, bottomless, cock leaking into your hand, and you: fully clothed and atop of his bony hips. 

Your lips meet his as you lean down, a sure hand still working him closer and closer to the edge.

You feel his muscles go taut against you, and you press a flat hand against his lower stomach to only further the feeling.

“Feel you getting close, honey,” you whisper against his lips, “gonna come for me, sweet boy?”

Matty moan against you, rutting his hips into your fist like a vice.

“S-so…please…need to cum…”

You smirk as you slow your pace, not quite letting him reach the high he had been so desperately running towards.

“No!” Matty chokes out a pathetic sob, eyes flying open and full of terror as your hand continues to slow. “W-why’d you stop? ‘Was so close…” He throbs in your hand; the head of his dick angry and red. You lean back, taking him all in. He’s flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat– his eyes are dark with lust and his brain seems to be devoid of any substantive thoughts. 

He may not be yours, but right now, he belongs to no one else. 

He’s your favourite game, and he’s just too easy to hit.

“Relax, pretty,” you coo, biting softly against his neck, leaving behind a red mark in the place of your teeth, “‘s not fair if only you get to feel good, is it?” You watch as he nods, nearly looking embarrassed that he had come so close to a release without accounting for you. “Don’t I deserve to feel good too? After all that I’ve done for you, baby?”

Matty looks at you as if you were a god. Little did he know you were the hunter that held the arrow he was forever hung from– wrists punctured and heart bleeding. All that he knew was that you were here. That you were the living embodiment of all that he desired and all that terrified him– he knew that you made him feel so good it was saintly.

You make quick work of getting your bottoms off, leaving behind nothing but your lace panties, already soaked through. Maybe, with another man, you would have been embarrassed by how wet you were– not with Matty. Matty looked as if he would gladly drink every last bit of you up like water if it meant getting to touch you, or rather, be touched by you.

You pump his own slick precum down his dick, sneaking your free hand into your panties and rapidly circling your neglected bundle of nerves. You stifle back a moan, and you’re sure Matty does the same; his hips meeting your hand with every flick of your wrist.

“Wanna feel you…please…need to be, uh, in you…” Matty’s voice is low– unsure. As if he was scared to speak his mind, worried you would leave him teetering on the edge once again.

You smile in response, “there’s my boy,” you give his dick a squeeze, “using his words so good f’ me, yeah?”

Matty nods, melting into the pleasure happily.

Your lips find his once more as your free hand slides the lace barrier away from your entrance, letting his head circle the pooling wetness. He slides in with a whine, and you clench around him immediately.

The stretch was delicious– familiar, but never diminished.

You two were no strangers to sex. You were no stranger to taking control. Yet, this moment, the one where he enters you, where he splits you open and leaves you gasping for air as you are pulled under– it is the one moment where you feel like the deer. His arrow pierces you just as yours pierces him. How utterly tragic. How perfectly orgasmic.

Once you are sure he is ready, you begin to move your hips against his. You can tell he won’t last long, his face distorting in pleasure with every thrust. It’s perfect. He is yours.

“Fuck– please…so close…” Matty whimpers, skin glowing red even in the pale moonlight.

“Yeah? Gonna be a good boy and cum for me?”

You move faster, feeling your insides re-arrange for him as he hits spots even deeper within you. The sounds of skin against skin echo through the halls of trees, your gasps punctuating every last movement. You feel yourself clench once, twice more and you know you won’t last long either.

Your hands find Matty’s waist, squeezing and pulling on the skin. He looks utterly pitiful below you, spewing endless moans and crys.

“Gonna—fuck! Gonna cum…please…” 

He’s nearly begging now, holding on for dear life as you increase your pace.

“So good for me,” you manage to gasp out whilst holding onto the edge of your own orgasm, “asking so damn nice– shit, c’mon, gorgeous,” you press an open mouthed kiss into his neck and feel his dick twitch, “cum for me.” 

Matty grabs desperately onto the last of his cohesiveness, his eyes locking on yours.

“W-where?”

“Inside. Pill. Matty, now.”

The words serve as more than approval for him– they allow yourself to let go as well. You cum in tandem, waves of ecstasy washing over you, pulling your intertwined bodies deeper and deeper down into the sea of pleasure.

Matty spews hot, white ropes deep into you. You watch in pure wonder as Matty reels below you, body twisting and arching and melting into the soil beneath the two of your frames.

He is wrecked. You’ve caught him. 

You lean closer into him, letting your bodies collide into one another. The hunter and their prey.

“Feeling good, Healy?”

Matty bears a blissed-out smile, utterly destroyed and perfectly happy to be so.

“Thank you. Thank you– god, ‘felt amazing.”

You smile right back, kissing his cheek as you catch your breath.

The two of you lay there for a moment. He pulls out eventually, watching as his pearls cascade out of you messily.

The music from the party is long-forgotten in the distance. The surroundings matter less and less with every passing moment.

You lace a hand through Matty’s messy curls– damp with sweat and smelling of desire.

You hold him tight; your prized game, won so valiantly.

You liked having him like this. 

It was easy to pretend.

You hear a yell in the distance– partygoers far too drunk and horny.

You look back at Matty.

★

Cool tendrils of condensation dripped from the glass rhythmically, as if they were painting a map onto the hardwood of the table.

Matty sat across from you, his cola half forgotten, yours nearly gone. Afternoon light spilled in from the windows, some old vinyl he had picked up last month spun on his overpriced record-player. Everything about the room was familiar. Domestic, even. It shouldn’t have been exciting. But, then again, he was there.

The heat had woven itself into his home, breaching concrete walls and settling in a slick sheen of sweat across his skin. He brushed back a drip of saltiness into his salt and pepper curls, letting a strand fall loose in front of his eyes.

Your vision danced lower, to his spread legs, jean-clad thighs open just enough where you could comfortably slot yourself between the–

“You’re staring.”

His voice came suddenly, tearing your gaze from the apex of his legs and back to his face. You felt a crimson flush seep through your cheeks, your fingers scrambling to find something to make you look occupied, They landed on the near-empty glass in front of you, only reminiscents of what once was a full drink left. You silently curse yourself for downing it so fast. Suddenly, the heat of the room didn’t seem comparable to the one that was growing as his eyes stayed on you/

“Sorry,” you mutter into the straw, sucking on it and letting the sound of nothing being sucked up into the plastic linger in the room.

“No you’re not.”

His eyes stay glued to you as he watches you hollow your cheeks around the straw, desperate to suck any liquid up.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You pause, letting the plastic fall from your mouth. 

“Drinking?”

You let out a small laugh, matched with a smile. Matty doesn’t so much as grin. If anything, his expression hardened more, eyes blown with something that resembled much more than simply interest. It was the same look he had given you each and every time before he had torn you to pieces: pure lust.

“Nah, you’re not,” his voice drops, “‘think you’re just tryin’ to get my attention.”

You pout slightly, playing into his game in the role you knew drove him mad. It was silly, sure, but it always seemed to get you the results you desired. Namely, handprints on your ass and his cum dripping down your thighs.

“‘M not. Swear.”

“Liar.”

His voice was swift after yours, not leaving any room for argument in the thick, humid air.

“I was just thirsty, that’s all.”

Matty smirks at that and the sight is sinful. He leans back in his seat, his thighs spreading even more as he grins wickedly.

“Clearly, love.”

You frown.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, well,” his voice is soft and condescending, rewriting your words as you speak them, “I think ya’ did.”

You shift in your seat, your bare thighs sliding over one another, desperate to relieve any of the pressure that had been building since the conversation had begun.

You have another go at your drink, shifting around the ice to try and get any liquid, but the attempt is futile. Just as soon as you’ve lifted the straw to your lips, Matty is pulling the glass away entirely.

“Stop that,” he snaps, placing the glass on the wood where it will surely leave a ring, “looking so fuckin’ desperate.”

You melt at his voice, at the sheer strength and force of it. It makes your stomach roll over and your veins run hot. The syllables had punctured every inch of your skin, injecting themselves into your veins and seeping into your bloodstream. You were addicted to the high, all you had to do was play along.

“Hmm? Don’t know what you mean,” You say softly, doing your best doe eyes at him through your lashes.

He looks down at you with a half-smirk half-scowl, “Oh please, love. You know exactly what you’re doin’”.

Matty takes your wrist in his hand, not bothering to lace his fingers with yours. Rather, he pulls you forward as he shifts back. 

Your body flows with the motion of his as Matty sits back in his chair, pulling you onto his lap. Any attempt by you to be graceful is lost as he yanks you forwards, his fingers finding the curve of your waist as he pulls you down onto him.

“Suckin’ on your drink like that,” he whispers low and dirty in your ear, placing a kiss right below your earlobe, “actin’ like such a little slut.”

You suck back a whimper as he bites at the sensitive skin of your neck, his hands venturing higher, up over your clothed tits.

“Matty…” you whine as he soothes the bite with his tongue. Your body was putty in his hands. The heat in the air made the rub of his rough denim jeans delicious over your bare thighs, skirt riding up as you bracketed them.

“Shhh, darlin’”, Matty palms at your chest, watching attentively as you arch your back, “I’m not done tellin’ you off, yeah?”

Your brain swims with hazy desire, only emphasised by every touch of his fingers against your chest, and every gentle move of your hips, each one generating addictive friction that shoots straight to your core.

You get a bit more brave with your movements, experimentally rolling your hips deeper before Matty catches your waist with his steady hands, effectively stopping you entirely.

A whine escapes your lips instinctively, body mourning the loss of stimulation all together.

“Ohh, is my poor girl feelin’ needy?” 

Matty’s voice is dripping with condescension, and damn, if he doesn’t wear it well.

A smug grin paints his face, skin moist with sweat and humidity, every curl perfectly out of place.

“Of course you are. Always so needy, yeah?”

You divert your gaze, a sudden flush washing over you in a wave of embarrassment. You had been called out, after all. Maybe, you should have been embarrassed. After all, here you were, getting off on the way he was manhandling you into his lap. But, then again, he was the one who pulled you into his lap after seeing you sucking on a goddamn straw. 

Before you can retort, Matty’s hand is squeezing your face, his thick fingers pulling your chin so your eyes are level with his.

“C’mon, love,” he murmurs, pupils blown, “wanna hear you say it.”

Never in your life have you felt like such a walking contradiction; your chest bloomed with a deep burgundy flush, embarrassment creeping up your spine as need swirled in your stomach, your panties suddenly seeming a whole lot wetter than they were ten minutes ago.

“Say it.”

Matty squeezes your face again, and you’re snapped back into reality.

You open your mouth, tongue fumbling with letters that had seemingly lost all rhyme or reason under his demeaning gaze. 

“I– uh…”

Matty gives a final squeeze to your cheeks before dropping his hand back to your waist and gripping meanly.

“Tell me you’re being a needy little slut,” he mutters, breath heavy against your cheek, “and maybe,” he squeezes your waist, “I’ll give you what you’re clearly so desperate for.”

You whimper at the rasp of his voice against your skin, cheeks painted pink with a mix of desire and embarrassment.

“Say it,” he utters, and you know right there and then that he’s not asking.

You suck in a shallow breath, air barely hitting your lungs, “I–I’m a needy…” Your words trail off as Matty pulls you down, letting your hips roll against his navy jeans. “F-fuck Matty…please…”

Matty smirks, stilling your movements, “keep talkin’ or I’ll stop.”

You nearly whine, body seeming to melt even more, like wax to a flame.

“Keep goin’.”

You nod softly, mind having gone to cotton under his fingertips.

“I’m a n-needy slut…”

Matty smiles, gripping your waist tightly and rubbing you on his thigh. “Good fuckin’ girl. You’re so nasty, gettin’ off on this. Jesus Christ, you’re pathetic.”

A noise that resembles a squeal, but seems to be much closer to a moan escapes you. The friction is delicious against the fabric of his jeans; your flimsy cotton panties hidden under the edge of your skirt are thoroughly soaked through, and you can feel it with every forceful roll of your hips.

“Oh baby,” Matty rasps, “‘bet you’re makin’ such a perfect mess on me, yeah?”

You can’t manage a response, voice catching in your throat as he pulls you down for a particularly deep roll of your hips.

“Can’t even think straight when I’m making you feel good, can you?” He doesn’t wait for a response, in fact, he doubles his efforts, pulling you closer and closer to the edge of a mind-melting release. “‘S all you’re good for, meltin’ for me like this.”

Matty’s right hand slips from your waist up to your cheek, gripping the skin tightly with his digits. His left leaves your waist simultaneously, snaking beneath your skirt and rubbing gentle circles into the clothed skin just above your clit. The contrast is devastating: his right hand grips meanly at your face, his thumb coming up to part your lips. His left hand makes quick work of pulling your drenched panties to the side, parting your other lips.

“Oh darlin”, he smirks as you accept his finger into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit and cheeks hollowing, “you’re soaked everywhere. Do you just stay wet like this whenever I’m around? Hm?”

His voice is punitive; degrading. He looke up at you as if you were hundreds of meters below him, and you fucking love it. “Mhm,” you gargle around his finger as he begins to circle your sopping hole. He pulls a gasp from your mouth as his fingers move north, rubbing tight figure-eights into your clit with your own wetness. “Always for you.”

“Mmmm, that’s right, darlin’,” Matty grips your chin with his free fingers, squeezing in a tight tempo as you suck on his thumb. “Baby? Can you stay still f’me? Wanna try something.”

You nod, a smile forming around his finger as he pulls it from your mouth with a wet popping noise. At the same time, his left hand leaves your clit, dragging a trail of your slick with his fingers. His two hands swap places, his right finding your cunt as his left reaches your mouth. 

“Ready?”

“Mhm…please…”

“Ya’ don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for,” he laughs, “you’re so cute when you’re ruined.”

Matty pushes four fingers in you all at once: two in your mouth, coated in your juices, and two in your aching cunt. The stretch is delicious, and you go from positively empty, to utterly and completely full.

“Fuck!” you gargle as you clench down, barely colding on to any composure. Matty’s thumb finds your neglected clit once more as his fingers scissor inside of your mouth and spongy walls in tandem.

You can taste yourself on his fingers– heavy and sweet and sinful and heavenly.

“Open wide, darlin”, and god, you do. “So willing,” he breathes, “just takin’ whatever I give you. Good girl, yeah.”

Your mouth is wide open for Matty as he presses harshly on your tongue with two fingers, nearly making you gag. Before you can close your mouth, he leans his head back, collecting a wad of spit in his throat, and spits it into your mouth. It's hot and thick and it tastes like cola and ice and him.

“Augh– please!” You rasp, mouth full of your own arousal and his sickly sweet spit, punctuated by the lingering taste of the cola he had been sipping on.

“If you were so damn thirty for that soda, then drink.”

He taps his wet fingers against your throat twice, and it’s all the instruction that you need. You swallow the mixture in one gulp, feeling as the liquid moves down your throat, soar from gasping around his hands.

“Oh, such a good slut, fuckin’ hell”.

Matty presses his lips against yours, and you taste him once more. All while, his right hand never lapses in its torturously quick circles on your clit. As the tension in your stomach increases, you’re sure you're close. After he had dragged you mere inches away from the edge on his thigh, you’re desperate for the release.

“Please, Matty– ‘m close, so close…”

Matty smirks as he kisses you again, his tongue dancing with yours as his taste seeps into your mouth all over again. You swear it’s nearly enough to make you cum on the spot.

“I know, I can feel you squeezin’ me, so tight, babe,” Matty groans as you clench around his fingers over and over, your stomach beginning to spasm as he drags you over a cliff of pleasure. “Let go f’me, come on, give me all that you’ve got.”

You come in a wave of red hot lust and release, a sharp moan shooting from your mouth and immediately being caught in his. Your body shakes and shutters around him in flutters of your cunt and your eyelids. Every inch of you is affected, and hell, if he doesn’t know it.

“So good, fuck. You’re makin’ it so damn hard for me to hold my composure, you know that?”

You smirk as you collapse into his shoulder, “this is you with composure?”

Matty just smiles, stroking your hair. He pulls you back, wiping a lingering line of his spit from the corner of your mouth. 

★

Your body lay limp on the couch in preparation. Every muscle relaxed, every tendon unflexed. Your mind was thoroughly wiped, left only with thoughts of him, of what was about to become of you. 

George got this look in his eye on nights like these. Lust wasn’t the right word– lust wasn’t enough.

It was a sheer, unrequited need. A desperation that exceeded a physical desire. It was mental, spiritual, molecular. His body ached for yours as much as yours ached to be changed by his. To be loved is to be changed, after all.

And, change you he would.

George was beside you before you could process it fully, the couch dipping under his weight.

“Baby,” he mutters, voice heavy and low, “are you okay?”

You nod softly, a lazy smile finding your face. Your brain was hazy, sure, but you were sure of one thing at least: you wanted this. You wanted him. You wanted him to bend you and stretch you and fill you and break you. You needed it.

“‘M okay,” you lean up on the back of your forearms, “just need you, George.”

George tsks, taking one of his large hands and placing it between your breasts, pushing you down into the couch. 

“Nope, don’t sit up, love. Let me take care of you. Let Daddy take care of you, alright?”

“O-okay.”

“Yeah, good girl, using your words. Thank you for letting me do this, baby.”

Your brain is melting out of your ears at his words, at his touch against your bare skin. The sight was sinful: you, naked and flushed against the dark fabric of the sofa, and him, fully clothed, eyes dark and pupils blown. He looked like he wanted to devour you. And, if his first touch to your chest was any indication, he very well might.

His hands were big, much bigger than your own, and you knew for a fact that wasn’t all. Compared to you, he was giant, almost scarily so. 

You let out a small gasp as his hand finds one of your peaked nipples, his thumb rolling over the sensitive bud. You let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, sparks of pleasure and need going straight to your core.

“George! Please…”

George pulls his hands from you entirely, leaving your nipple sore and aching.

“N-no…please, why?” You whine at the loss, trying to push yourself closer to him once again. 

George stops you effortlessly, pushing you back into the sofa with two hands this time, one against each of your shoulders.

“Don’t move, be good.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he presses a finger against your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Don’t wanna hear anything out of that pretty mouth of yours until you address me properly. None of that “George” shit. Do you understand me, sweet girl?”

You nod, body shivering at his reprimanding. 

“I understand…”

“You understand, what?”

“I understand, Daddy.”

“Oh, good girl,” his hands find your nipples again, this time alternating between rubbing and pinching, sending waves of pleasure-pain through your body. “Knew you could be good for me.”

“Daddy…need more, please,” your voice is hushed and airy, but your tone is clear: desperate.

George flashes a smile before letting one hand drop lower, down to right below your navel.

“Want Daddy to fill you up? Is that it?”

You nod quickly, lashes fluttering.

“Words, sweet girl.”

“Y-yes…please Daddy.”

George nods, pressing down on the sensitive skin.

“Gonna fill you up so good, you’ll feel Daddy right here,” he presses hard on your stomach, making sure that you feel it. “You’re gonna feel my cum for days, baby. ‘Wanna make sure it sticks, yeah?”

You close your eyes at the idea, imagining his cum dripping out of your used cunt– imagining him re-arranging your guts, leaving you marked with something only he could give you.

“Yes Daddy, yes, please– want you so bad.”

“Okay sweet girl, I hear you. Begging so good for Daddy.”

George makes quick work of unbuttoning his trousers, freeing himself in one, swift motion. His cock is red and angry, practically throbbing with need. You try to hide the lick you do to your lips at the sight, but you’re sure you saw George smirk.

George leans down, spreading your soaked folds between two thick fingers.

“Holy shit, love– you’re dripping…”

You squirm under his hot breath, the contrast with the cold air delicious.

“All for you, Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know…” George coos as he begins to line himself up with you, tapping the head of his cock once, twice before pushing inside in one, fluid motion.

“F-fuck!!” You practically scream at the feeling. Full was an understatement. He had taken you, body and soul; penetrated every inch of your being. “Daddy!”

“Language, sweet girl,” George punctuates his sentence with a deep thrust, his tip kissing your cervix perfectly. “Be” thrust “my” thrust “good” thrust “girl” thrust, thrust, thrust.

Your body had turned to jello under him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he railed into you over, and over, and over again. Your gelatin muscles contrasted the ever-tightening rubber band buried in your stomach, getting stretched tighter with each tap to that godly spot inside of you.

George releases your hip from the clutch of his right hand, reaching to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“I can feel you clenching me so tight, baby. Y’close?”

Words form in your head, but don’t seem to meet your lips, getting caught somewhere between the loud sound of skin slapping against skin and the squelch of your drenched cunt.

“I know,” he babies you, “I know, sweet girl. I can feel it, don’t even need to say anything at all.”

You nod, or at least try your best to, before your face is distorted in pleasure once more as George lifts your leg above his shoulder, ramming into that spot that makes you see stars.

“I need you to come for me, alright? C’mon, give me all that you’ve got. I know you can, baby.”

His words are all the permission you need before your used cunt is spasming around him, milking his cock as you cum around it. You let out a near pornographic moan as you cum, letting your body melt as pleasure consumes you.

You have been thoroughly changed.

George isn’t far behind, and god, you can feel it. His dick twitches inside of you as your spasms subside, his pace increasing as he chases that desperate edge.

“Fuck– gonna, shit, gonna make you a mum, yeah?” His hand finds your hip again, stabilising you as he uses your body, “gonna fuck this cum into you and give you a baby in your stomach, alright sweet girl? Just say the word, just tell me, love.”

“Y-yes–” you croak, voice spent from moaning, and body limp from your mind-shattering orgasm.

In a moment's time, George is cumming deep inside of you, his milky sperm latching on to every last curve of your cunt.

“God, thank you baby, thank you.”

George collapses against you, his head resting on your shoulder, your hair sticking to his forehead.

“You were so perfect for Daddy.”

Matty could not keep his hands still.

The entire evening, he had been fidgeting in some manner: picking at his nails, ruffling his hair, biting at his lips. But, nothing seemed to catch his attention like the dark tie around his neck. 

His suit was fitted and crisp, the type of getup a proper celebrity would be in. 

You had teased him before you had left for the award show, smoothing out the dents on his jacket.

‘Looking like a regular Mick Jagger, aren’t you, Healy.’

It was funny then.

You couldn’t think of anything less funny now.

The night was seemingly endless. Meaningless speech after speech, awards being passed around, and you and your boyfriend tucked away in a corner with him pulling at his tie and an ache between your legs.

It had started when he had pulled the knot a bit too tight, choking him ever so slightly. You had to take a sip of your drink and fake a cough to stifle the gasp that had been dragged to your lips.

Things only got worse when he started loosening the tie, flipping the thin fabric around his fingers and twirling the ends up and down.

You wanted to pull him in right there and then and have your way with him.

Matty, ever the observer, was all but oblivious to how he was affecting you. It certainly didn’t help that all night, he had been dropping not-so-casual innuendos, surely to try and knock you off your game.

Your dress was tight and slightly sheer. Short, and hugging your curves perfectly. Unbeknownst to you, the second Matty saw it, he had decided his own fate for the evening: driving you crazy so that you would put him in his place. Minx. 

“Y/N?”

Your attention is drawn from the incredibly boring ceiling and the droning voices to that of Matty beside you, your gaze narrowing instantly as you watch him fiddle with his tie.

“What, darling?”

Matty smirks.

“‘M bored.”

You smirk right back.

“I can tell.”

Matty raises an eyebrow, pulling down on his tie slightly.

“You’re fidgeting,” you add.

“‘M not,” he counters with a frown.

God, he was asking for it.

You look down, your eyes finding his fingers at the fabric, effectively stopping his movements with your gaze.

“Oh.”

You smile at his small, barely verbal admission.

“How can I help you, baby?” You ask, leaning in closer to his neck, voice low and sultry as to not be heard by the irrelevant guests at your table. “I want to make this evening fun for you, Mr. Rockstar.”

Matty swallows. Hard.

“Poor boy,” you whisper, “you’re so easy.”

Matty pouts, “‘M not.”

You bite your lip, “sure, baby.”

Your gaze leaves him momentarily as you scan the room, eyes landing on the dimly lit ‘WC’ sign. 

“Darling,” you motion gently with your head towards the sign, “c’mon.”

Matty, still pouting from your previous comments, drops his tie from his fingers and crosses his arms across his chest in protests. “No. I’m busy.”

You grin, leaning in closer. “Don’t be a brat. I said, let’s go.”

The word brat lingers with him. It tastes salty on your tongue, and you watch as he mirrors it right back. Somehow, you’re sure it’s sickly sweet on him.

“‘M not a brat.”

“Oh yeah?” Your hand finds his wrist, gripping firmly. “Then show me. Let’s go, Healy.”

That’s all it takes to get Matty on his feet, his wrist still trapped between your fingers. 

He’s so in for it.

The door to the restroom slams shut behind you, and in an instant your hands are on Matty. You free him from the confines of his suit jacket, leaving only his fitted button down shirt and that damn tie behind.

“You’ve been so fucking distracting all night,” you growl into his ear, pressing him back against the wall and slotting him between your thighs, “what did you think you were doing back there?”

“I wasn’t–”

“Don’t. Don’t be dumb, Healy.”

Matty’s sly smirk is entirely gone at the tone of your voice. You’re not messing around, and he knows it. 

His plan had worked perfectly.

You lean in close, your lips ghosting over his. He tries to meet you half way, but you shove him back harshly against the wall.

“Stay put,” you murmur against him.

And then, you kiss him.

Perhaps kiss is the wrong word. You lick into Matty’s mouth with aggression and passion, biting down hard on his lip.

Matty whines at the feeling, and you suck the noise right into your mouth. Matty’s at a loss for words, his breath coming is spurts. You pant into his open mouth, breathing for the both of you.

“Are you gonna be my good boy tonight?”

Matty grinds against your thigh at your words, desperately seeking friction. 

You smirk, “fuckin’ desperate, aren’t you? C’mon, answer me. What are you, darling?”

Your hand finds his clothed bulge, and oh fuck, he’s hard hard.

“I’m…fuck, please…I’m desperate. And I–”

You squeeze his bulge tightly, adding even more pressure to his already tight trousers and he whimpers into your mouth.

“Keep going.”

“I…I’m gonna be your– fuck! I’m gonna be your good boy.”

You smile planting a soft kiss on the tip of his nose as a reward, and as a distraction as you pull your hand away from him entirely.

“Good fuckin’ boy, baby. Good job using your words, just like we practiced, yeah?”

Images of nights spent with Matty tied up and begging flash across your mind, and you can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Tell me what you want, baby. I wanna hear that pretty voice of yours beg.”

Matty’s head hits the wall once more as he grieves the loss of your hand, his body tensing as you slide your fingertips up his chest instead.

“I want…I want you to let me fuck you– please?”

You smile. It was cute to let him be vocal, as if he had any say in what would be going down this evening.

“Oh baby, that’s so sweet! You wanna make me feel good? You wanna make mommy feel good?”

Mommy.

It wasn’t the first time you two had used the word. Actually, far from it. Many nights had been spent with him choking around your fingers, begging for his mommy, and tonight would be no different. Well, maybe slightly different.

“Yes, yes– I wanna make mommy feel good, please.”

You rub a gentle finger over his cheek, your other hand stopping at the end of his tie, gripping it tightly in preparation.

“You wanna feel good too, darling?”

Matty’s eyes light up, desire and need flashing across his face.

“Yes– yes! I need it. ‘Wanna feel good so bad, please, Mommy.”

You smirk deliciously. No one ever said tonight would be easy fun.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad, baby,” you watch as Matty’s expression falls, “maybe you should have thought of that before you were a fucking brat at the table, yeah?”

You watch the wheels turning in Matty’s brain as he realises what is about to happen; he was going to make you get off and be left with nothing.

“But–”

“Shhh,” you press a harsh finger to his lips, tugging on his tie as he stumbles forward slightly, your body now pressed flush against his. “Don’t mouth around. I don’t wanna hear anything except ‘yes mommy’, alright?”

Matty looks utterly destroyed, and hell, if you don’t love it. His lips are puffy from your biting, his tie tight against his neck as you pull on it again. A small sound escapes his throat, and you’re sure it's as much of a moan as it is a yelp.

“Y-yes mommy.”

“Good boy,” you praise, pulling tighter on his tie. You’re practically choking him now, the fabric so tight around his neck that his face is going a bit red. Out of fear for his wellbeing, you loosen your grip ever so slightly and watch as he gasps for air.

“You’re doing good Matty,” you praise, “taking it so well after being such a brat, yeah?”

Matty nods, brain practically melting out of his ears at the combination of praise and degradation. 

“How about this,” you pull on his tie again, jerking him forwards, “since you’ve been good, I’ll sit on your face. How does that sound?”

Matty nods frantically, desperate to be of service to you.

You grin madly at the sight of him, so fucked out already. “Fuck baby, you’re a fucking wet dream for me, you know that?”

“Yes mommy,” Matty gargles through choked breaths.

You smile, pulling him down by his tie. He gasps as his knees hit the tile, his neck red from being pulled around. And fuck, he loves it.

You hike up your dress above your hips, spreading your legs and settling over him. You watch as he begins to grind his hips into the floor, chasing and relief to his raging hard-on.

“Tell me what you’re going to do, darling,”

You pull sharply on his tie to signal him to speak. “I’m gonna– fuck, I’m gonna eat you out, mommy.”

You grin, patting the top of his curls twice, and allowing for a bit more slack around his neck.

“Good boy, baby. So smart for me.”

You pull his mouth towards you by his tie, and his hands find your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, nope,” you scold, wiping his hands away, “no touching, only your mouth, baby.”

Matty pouts, but does as he’s told, leaving his hands to fall behind his back, and his mouth resting against your clothed cunt.

His eyes are blown wide at the sight of your drenched underwear, and honestly, you’re a bit surprised too. You had been so focused on him, that you had forgotten just how affected you were getting. 

Matty’s breath fans over the sopping fabric in hot streams.

“Fuck, baby– Need you to be good and eat mommy’s cunt, just like you said, alright?”

“Mhm, okay, mommy.”

Matty looks up at you through hooded eyes, and you’re done for. You pull him in by his tie and his mouth goes straight to work. He licks and sucks over the lace, biting gently at your clothed clit as you let out a soft moan, stabilising yourself with a hand against the wall behind him. The other stays tightly wrapped by Matty’s tie, pulling him impossibly closer into you. 

He laps at the fabric, tongue swirling around your clit, and you feel yourself falling closer and closer to the edge. 

Before you can let go, you yank him back by his tie, allowing him gasps of breath as you pull down your panties. The fabric pools between your legs and you step out of it, leaning down to grab them and toss the lacy scrap aside atop of Matty’s discarded jacket. You’re sure he will find a way to sneak the pair into a coat pocket, and you’ll surely have to go without for the rest of the evening. But, you’re not complaining.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling. ‘Gonna finish the job? ‘Gonna make mommy cum on your face, baby?”

“Yes, yes– please, wanna taste you,” Matty begs frantically, trying to lean in to get a taste of your glistening core, but you hold him back by his tie.

“I want to hear you beg.”

“Mommy, please, please, please I wanna’ make you cum, please let me, please–”

Before he can finish, you’re yanking him in by his tie, his mouth colliding with your soaked core.

Matty laps at your entrance like a man starved, licking up every last taste of arousal and swallowing desperately.

“F-fuck, baby…so fucking good,” you moan your free hand falling from the wall and rooting in his mess of curls, “don’t stop–”

Matty hums around you, licking with a new found fervor at the praise. He directs his attention up to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue rapidly.

You can feel yourself being dragged closer and closer to the edge with each lap at your cunt, Matty’s tongue now fucking into you speedily.

“I’m gonna cum, baby– fuck! I’m gonna–”

Without finishing your sentence, you’re falling apart on Matty’s tongue, body spasming as he licks you through it. The aftershocks hit you hard as he sucks a final time on your clit, just the way you had taught him.

“You did so well for me baby, you’re so fucking perfect. My good boy,” you ruffle Matty’s hair as you pull him away by the strip of fabric, eyes mapping over his face, sparkling with your arousal. “Open up, baby boy.”

Matty does as he’s told, sticking out his tongue, coated in your milky cum.

“Swallow.”

 The word is a command and Matty knows it. He quickly does as he’s told, making a show out of swallowing down your release.

“Oh, good boy. You’re perfect, baby. You did so perfectly,” you pull Matty up by his tie, his knees as wobbly as yours.

You raise an eyebrow, your eyes flashing down to a new, dark spot on his trousers.

“Did you…?”

Matty blushes, hiding his face away in his hands. 

You wipe his hands from his face, holding his chin with your own palms.

“It’s okay baby, you did what you were supposed to and made yourself feel good. That’s because my boy is so smart, he figured it out all on his own, all while making mommy feel so good.”

Matty preens at the praise, the flush in his cheeks turning a perfect, rosy pink.

“Thank you mommy.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hair.

Hair soft as a baby’s blanket; cascading in waves of chocolate gold. Curled at the ends, and all let down. Matty imagines tugging at it: how it would feel between his calloused fingers as he pulled and guided. What it would look like tied back or braided or slipping down the drain.

Skin.

Oh, how pristine. Unmarked and tender is the silk that wraps the flesh beneath. How sweet it would taste under Matty’s rough tongue– how the crimson would escape from its confines under the pressure of his canine teeth.

Eyes.

Every last drop of the oceans could be explored and examined, and yet, nothing, no pure blue water could come close to the depth of your iris. What they would look like staring into his own; how beautiful, how moving.

Legs.

Long and strong and nothing but shadows under the draped fabric of your black dress. Matty imagines how you would wrap them around him as he drove into you– clinging to every inch; to every movement.

There’s applause. People are applauding.

The curtain comes down.

Matty stands on autopilot, your image still burned into his retinas like the sun.

This was the eleventh evening he had spent tucked away in a dusty theater in the West End.

The eleventh time Matty had seen you twist your tongue into old English rhymes and gaze into the crowd. Into him.

The eleventh night that he had gone home alone.

The eleventh time he had laid in bed, chest heaving, hand wrapped around the thick base of his cock, stroking and squeezing and picturing nothing at all but you. How your breasts would look– peaked and hardened by the cold air of his flat. How you would sound moaning and gasping his name. How he would grab at your hair, bite at your skin, gaze in your eyes, claw at your legs. How he would have his way with you. How he would have you.

It was perverted, sure.

He knew it.

He knew it, yes.

He didn’t care.

Not one bit.

Maybe he would have if things had been different.

Maybe he would have if you hadn’t been performing his favourite play.

Maybe he would have if he hadn’t been too tipsy on wine and loneliness that first night.

Maybe he would have if you hadn’t looked at him when you spoke– oh, he was sure that you had.

Maybe…

‘Maybe’s’ are useless. Afterall, he didn’t care about the sickness of it all. Not. One. Bit.

It had become religious: his church was the theater, your altar the stage. You were his Mother Mary: pure as a virgin yet beholding a work so incredible that it is deemed a miracle. Your voice rang in his ears like hymns; your lines, his scripture.

Oh, how Matty worshiped.

He imagined what it would be like to see all of you. To have all of you. He would praise, and bite, and kiss, and suck, and taste, and devour until you were a squirming mess beneath him. His devotion was in his admiration. He moaned your name like a prayer; he touched himself like his climax was the eighth sacrament. He played out scene after scene in the cinema of his mind. It followed him

You followed him.

He didn’t plan to keep coming back.

He didn’t plan to keep cumming.

Perhaps he should have been scared; your sorcery was clear– compelling him through some sort of hypnosis to return night after night, and come home sweat-slicked and sensitive.

You had to know.

He was sure you knew.

Had you thought of him too?

The eleventh night was like the rest for the most part.

Matty stood to clap as the curtain dropped and watched as the crowds of people filed out like mice in a maze through the rows of velvet seats. The lights were dim and the air was heavy. It had become familiar. The familiarity did not diminish the electricity in his veins. Not one bit.

He took the same route out the side exit, his strides consistent as he moved through the lobby.

Old men and women queued to retrieve their fur coats and jackets. 

Young couples smiled and laughed about whatever nonsense they pretended to care about.

If this were any other night, Matty would have kept straight when the cool night air hit his face and soaked his lungs.

If this were any other night, he would have called a car and made the journey home.

If this were any other night, we would have dealt with the growing hardness in his trousers alone, back flat on his mattress and head dizzied with lust and the ever present lines of your face.

Yet, he didn’t.

Because, this was not any other night.

And, as such, the moment his polished shoes touched the hard pavement, he veered left. He turned the corner, and walked until the white ‘Stage Door’ sign found his line of sight.

And then, he stopped.

He waited.

He waited for you.

He knew you would be there.

He had seen it before. Only from a distance, but enough times that he was sure of it.

He unlocks his phone, turning down the screen brightness.

He taps rhythmically, opening the familiar folder with dozens of pictures– each nearly the same.

They were all in the same place, at roughly the same time.

They were all taken on the corner where the avenues merged.

They were all adorned with that same ‘Stage Door’, the very one he stood below now.

And, they all had you.

You, in boots the night it had rained.

You, in a jacket when it was chilly.

You, in a sparkly dress when there was a cast party.

You, nursing a tea when you had been ill.

You, you, you.

He knew you would be there.

He knew you would be here tonight.

The door creaked open.

His heart pounded against the boards of his chest, threatening to crack ribs and bend the walls of his skin.

It was you.

Matty wasn’t quite close enough for you to see, but you could tell there was someone there. You could smell the cigarette they were smoking, anyway. He knew you would be able to. That’s why he lit it.

He also knew you were a smoker. That you liked Parliaments. He had a picture of it: night four, lighter in hand, smoke adorning the screen.

You take a few more steps and see him.

You think for a moment that you recognize him, but brush off the thought quickly. He was probably just in the audience tonight.

His gaze catches yours.

He smiles.

You offer a polite nod back.

He puffs smoke like it’s air.

The moment is heavy around him— he knows you can feel it too.

“Hey– you were in the show tonight, weren’t you?”

His voice is certain as he speaks through a cloud of grey– almost too certain, as if he already knew the answer.

You gesture towards the sign slightly askew from years of English weathering.

“Yeah, I was,” you smile, turning to face him.

Soft, golden light spills onto you both from the street, casting a light glow onto the sides of your faces, the others hidden by the sharp darkness of the alleyway.

“Lady Macbeth?”

“Yep.”

“You were amazing.”

“Oh- thanks!”

You grin as you always do when given a compliment about your work. They were often hard to accept; it was work after all.

You turn to begin walking, legs tired from hours of pacing onstage and head cloudy with lines and cues.

“Fancy a smoke?”

You pause for a moment, considering it.

Your head is moving into a nod before your mouth can protest.

Matty slips a slender cigarette out of his pack, offering it to you.

You take it, fingers brushing. You barely notice, quickly planting it between parted lips.

Matty thinks he might just faint.

Skin.

“Light?” He asks.

“Oh, yes, please.”

He steps closer, movements certain as he lights the cigarette.

You take a long drag, letting the familiar headrush wash through you.

He watches you attentively as your shoulders soften, eyes growing droopier.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Anytime.”

And then, he’s gone.

Cigarettes stomped out on damp pavement. Trousers tighter than usual.

Matty  had played it out a million times in his head: what you would say, how he would respond.

It had happened.

You had met.

It worked.

Matty let the fantasies of the evening swirl into an endless film reel behind his eyes. He watched you take the cigarette out of his fingers hundreds of times over; peered adamantly as your face lit up at his complement. How your voice was dripping with appreciation, how you had become properly fond of him in only a moment.

He knew that you had known all along.

He was sure you had recognized him, that you had known that this moment was destined to be. 

If Romeo and Juliet’s love was written in the stars, yours and his was coded in the blood that you had scrubbed of your husband’s hands for the last eleven nights. In your passing moment together, he had felt it– the blood on your hands. It was now on his, too. Turning the corner, Matty pops a finger into his mouth. 

You taste so damn sweet.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Messy sheets.

Messy hair.

Messy flat.

Messy hands.

Messy mind.

Matty’s breath is heavy. Heavier than it’s ever been before.

He drops his phone beside him– screen bright and illuminated with a new picture. One from tonight. One of you, smoking his cigarette. 

The pads of his fingers trail delicately over his bare chest. The skin had been inked for years. Each swirl of black telling a story that words simply never could.

Matty had only awoken maybe thirty minutes ago– pulled out of sleep by desire swirling low, yet heavy in his stomach. Pictures of you, hands covered in blood as you yelled out to a crowd of viewers, each with their eyes locked on nothing but you. How you would run off stage and kiss him– how he would hold you. How you would be his. 

A ring on your left hand would sparkle in the stage lights, a child growing day by day in your womb.

He awoke with sweat on his collarbone and a tet in his boxers.

His need was insatiable. He was a poor addict; you, his drug of choice.

Now, after the high had come crashing down, Matty was left as Lucifer: an angel fallen from the highest heights of heaven, left in the darkest, and most delicious pits of hell.

Matty’s gaze poured over his pale skin, adorned by the red marks left behind by his nails; kissed by his release that he had chased so adamantly.

The contrast was beautiful.

White, pearly ropes of cum covered his stomach, stretching over the years-old ink and filling in the lines of his clawed marks. His chest had become a map of lust and desire, pioneered by pleasure. 

He looked like sex itself, and he knew it.

He spent a while laying just like that: feeling his hand run over the goose-bumped skin; the same hand that you had touched only hours before.

Breaths became deeper, less shallow. Marks began to fade. Cum began to dry.

Matty glanced over to his nightstand in the darkened room, a war-torn looking notebook sat atop of it, a black-inked pen beside it.

He reaches for it with his clean hand, sitting up as he does. The leather book falls onto the sweat-dampened mattress; edges torn and spine bent.

Matty opens it to a fresh page, flipping through page upon page of songs and poems. 

Some of them were for girls of his past. Some of them were for himself. 

Nowadays, he finds it hard to write about anything but you.

Words poured from the pen like the kisses he would press into your skin: warm, sweet, sharp.

The web of words begins by saying everything and nothing at all. His eyes wander greedily over to his phone, still open to your picture.

His pen moves faster.

I can show you the photographs

Of you getting on with life

Memories of his stolen dreams play hungrily behind Matty’s eyes. His pen flies wildly over the paper now.

I’ve had dreams where there’s blood on you

All those dreams where you’re my wife

Inside my mind.

Dark eyes and blown pupils read back the lyrics; a string of syllables being hummed under Matty’s breath.

His eyes catch the last line he wrote, where he had pressed ever so slightly too hard on the ivory paper, forcing ink through the thin layers.

Inside my mind.

He watches the words as if he is expecting them to move, and he swears they almost do. Inside his mind?

Matty picks up his pen once more, scratching out the three words in one, straight line.

He writes below.

Inside your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place.”

Your words are loud– booming over the low hum of the creaking, old theater. The crowd doesn’t dare speak. Matty holds his breath.

“I have given suck, and know how tender ‘tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have pluck’d my nipple from its boneless gums. And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this.”

Matty grips the armrests of his seat tighter. His gaze stays woven to you: to the way you move, the way you speak. And then, it happens. He’s sure of it. More sure than he’s ever been before. 

You look at him. 

You see him.

Your words echo loudly in his mind: ‘Be so much more the man.’

He knows it then; he knows it from the vertebrae of his spine to the hair of his head: tonight, he asks you. Tonight, he touches you. Tonight, you become his.

The next hour is near torturous: the show that had once been his favourite blends into mindless words and over-dramatzised bouts of screaming and crying. What a bore. 

None of it meant anything at all now that he had made up his mind.

He had heard the monologue a million times– seen the look on  your face as you described smashing the skull of your own child.

He had cringed the first time he heard it.

How violent?

How grotesque?

He didn’t cringe this time.

For once, he’s sure that he understood. You meant it for him.

You wanted him to make a move, god, you needed it. You were his Lady Macbeth begging him to take action.

Left alone for too long, and the love would go cold; grow meaningless. The only way to feel it would be to destroy it. 

It was sick, and twisted, and utterly gorgeous. 

How delectable, the violence.

How tender, the pain.

Soon, it would be his to have– to feel.

All that was left to do was wait.

His eyes fall back to the stage as Macbeth scrubs his hands clean.

He looks down on his own.

Phantom blood soaks them through to the bone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dark, grey smoke curls around Matty into the crisp London night.

The rain of the previous night has long dissipated, leaving only a cool breeze in its place.

The small lamp that illuminates the ‘Stage Door’ sign flickers. It was out last night. Curious.

Matty checks the time on his wristwatch.

You should be out any moment now. You always are.

One…two…three…

The door creaks open. You step outside.

A long trenchcoat drapes over your shoulders, wrapping you loosely and ties haphazardly around your waist.

Matty watches as you turn your head, spotting him leaning against the wall across from the open door.

“Oh!” You startle slightly, placing a hand on your chest. 

Matty takes another drag. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, love.”

You suck in a breath at the petname, your eyes darting up and down Matty quickly. You hope he didn’t notice.

He did.

He was attractive, objectively. A sharp jawline and messy hair– tall enough and slender in frame. He looked enticing.

He looked familiar.

The puzzle pieces click in your mind.

“Sorry- were you here last night, too?”

Smoke pours from Matty’s mouth as it stretches into a grin. 

“Good memory.”

You smile softly.

“Two nights in a row?”

Try twelve.

“Yep. It’s a great show, in my defense.”

You smile openly now, a soft blush creeping into your cheeks. You take a step closer.

“I’m Y/N,” you speak softly.

“I know.”

You raise an eyebrow in response.

“Playbill,” he smiles, taking a drag. “I’m Matty.”

“Nice to meet you properly, Matty.”

He lets out the smoke he had sucked in, letting it fan in your direction.

The moment is approaching.

 ‘Be so much more the man.’

“The pleasure is mine,” he smirks, hand sinking into his pocket and pulling out his same pack of Parliaments.

“Smoke?”

You shake your head hesitantly.

“I’m trying to quit.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

You pause, biting softly on your lip.

He notices.

If only you knew.

“Suit yourself.”

He slips the pack back into his pocket, dropping his own cigarette and stomping it out.

Oh, how familiar this was. Oh, how different it was about to become.

“So,” he starts, taking an imperceivable step closer. You barely notice. He does. “Headed home?”

You nod.

“Shame.”

You squint softly.

“How so?”

“We could have had some proper fun tonight.”

You let out a small laugh.

He hears it. He notices the way you suck in a breath. The way your shoulders stiffen. The way your pupils go a bit wider.

“You’re bold.”

“I’m right.”

Matty pauses, taking a larger step forward, now.

He tentatively rests his hand on your clothed arm. He tests the waters: they’re as warm as the blood that pumps through your veins. He can feel it.

“Come back to mine, love.”

You let out a soft breath, melting into his touch.

If only you knew how long he had waited.

“O-okay.”

Matty smiles.

You smile back. 

If only you knew that you were now his.

You walk a step ahead of him, his hand now resting on the small of your back.

His gaze is fixed to the back of your head– to the way that your hair falls over your skull.

What a brain you must have.

It must be swimming with lines, with words and stories. The walls of your plush mind, soaked and coated in deep maroon. Even a drop spilled would be far too precious. Matty can see it so clearly: the code it would hold. Each blood cell, engineered to your uniqueness. He would bottle it up if he could. Maybe, it would tell him everything he had been waiting so, so long to hear. Cracked, white bones and spilled scarlett would stain him with knowledge far too bitter to be obtained, yet far too sweet to resist.

“My flat’s this way, darling.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re asleep.

You’re asleep in Matty’s bed.

Your back is bare.

Your hair is wild and free.

Your legs are twisted in sheets.

Your cunt is swollen and red.

Your lips are bitten and taste of blood and something uniquely Matty.

You had given yourself to him so willingly.

So adamantly.

So perfectly.

He had held you and whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you drifted into sleep; collarbone bearing the marks of his teeth and the deep blooming purple where he had sucked spots into your prim skin.

He hadn’t slept. Hell, he had barely even shut his eyes.

To do so would be a sin, he was sure of it.

His pupils had stayed glued to you, not daring to blink.

How wasteful it would be to miss even a moment of time with you?

So, he hadn’t.

He watched as you stepped foot into his flat.

As your back arched in pleasure as he licked a flat strip over your sickly sweet wetness.

As  you had shed your trenchcoat at the door.

As your face distorted in pleasure when he bottomed out.

As you had nodded ‘yes’ to a cup of tea to mend a sore throat from long nights spent performing.

As you had clawed at his back as he chased your third orgasm of the evening, rubbing a sure thumb over your overstimulated clit.

As you had laid back on his bed in nothing but your panties.

As he had come all over your stomach, just as he had done on his own.

Now, he lay awake.

His mind swam with words. Words waiting to be said. Words that had already been spoken. Words that could only be immortalized on paper.

His beat-up notebook sings sweetly in his ear.

He has to write.

The pen is heavy in his hand– much heavier than usual.

The words come less naturally, too. As if these ones mattered more– as if they were special.

When he wrote, now, it was no longer a prayer. It was a recollection. A memory. A moment chiseled into the pure white paper staring back at him.

He opened to the same page as the night prior.

He begins to write.

I’ve been watching you walk

I’ve been learning the way that you talk

Moment after moment ricochet across Matty’s vision– dancing in black and white. It was real. It was always real. 

He glances over to you know; back facing him, skull taunting him.

The back of your head is at the front of my mind

Soon I’ll crack it open just to see what’s inside your mind

You stir in your sleep, only slightly. The pen drops from Matty’s hand, leaving ink smudged across the page. 

It drips down and sinks into his lap. Deep red that paints his sheets and his skin.

It’s red. It’s red. It’s red.

Matty blinks. 

There is only a smudge on the page.

It’s black.

He glances back to you; to your head.

He watches as you shift.

Are you dreaming of him?

He picks up the pen once more.

Maybe you are dreaming you’re in love with me

The only option left is look and see, inside your mind

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fucking twat.”

Those were the only two words my mind could seem to conjure up when I saw his face from across the dimly lit club. The air was too hot and too thick, which certainly was not aiding in my struggles to control my breaths after one too many tequila sodas, and a drunk cigarette that I definitely did not need. Plus, I was trying to quit. Then again, I was also trying to quit seeing Matty. Figures. 

Perhaps it was a bit sad of me to be out at the club, alone, on a saturday, but then again, I wasn’t here to linger on my internally judgemental dialogue. I was here to get drunk and end up in the bed of a stranger, and hope that the dull sting of the impending headache mixed with burning liquid would be enough to divert my mind from wishing it was Matty laying beside me.

But now, he is here. 

In the club. 

Where I am too.

I quickly shift my gaze down to the dampened cup in my hands, and pray that the definite eye contact we had just made was somehow a figment of my overactive imagination. The room gleams with purple and pink neon, dripping in glitter and regret. The music is too loud. The liquor is too expensive. There are too many people here. And yet, only one seemed to matter. I nearly drop my drink when I feel the warmth of a hand on the small of my back.

“What the fuck!”

I spin myself around before I know what I am doing, before my mind can tell me to stop. The smell hits me before my eyes can adjust; the familiar scent of whisky and cigarettes mixed with expensive cologne and something distinctly His. 

“Didn’t think you could hide from me all night, did ya, Darling?”

I cringe at the petname, the same one he used to whisper into my ear in the dead of night and in the wee hours of the morning. His voice is just as raspy and heavy as it was the last time we spoke– when I stood out in the rain cursing his god forsaken name and praying to never see him again, whilst wishing to run right back into his arms. Fucking twat, I echo in my mind.

“I was actually counting on it– seems as though you’ve fucked up my plan though.”

His face distorts into something reminiscent of a smirk, tainted by something much more closely aligned with victory. His shirt lays perfectly over his skin; crisp and white and buttoned far too high for my liking. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I only now realize that his hand has not yet left the curve of my back, his fingers tracing mindless, lazy patterns over the thin fabric of my excuse of a dress– the one I had bought hoping he wouldn’t see. I shift under his touch, not quite moving closer, but not exactly pulling away either.

“You look nice.”

I frown a bit at his sharp tone, knowing instantly that there is nothing complimentary about his words.

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, good.”

Matty pauses, like there is something on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite get out. The silence is deafening, tension so thick I could grab it in my hands. I take a sip of my drink, hoping the liquid will give me even an ounce of courage, or at least enough will to walk away from this evening unscathed.

“You here alone?” I ask between sips.

“Not anymore.” 

He runs his free hand through his curls; they’re messier than usual, in that unkept yet perfect kind of way that always used to drive me crazy. Used to. Used to. Used to.

“I’m not here with you, Matty. You know that.”

He pauses, his touch stills over the fabric of my dress.

“I could be.”

My gaze catches his once more, and I can practically feel the heat radiating off of him through his blown pupils. I shift in my stance ever so slightly, subtly trying to squeeze my thighs together to ease any of the growing tension swirling in my lower stomach. It’s no use. 

“Matty…”

He bites down softly on his lower lip, a mannerism I learned well in the nights we spent together. Seeing it again feels almost natural. Right. Matty leans in, his grip on my back moving to grasp at the bone of my lip. I let out a near-silent gasp, and pray that it was quiet enough not to be noticed by him.

“Matty…” I repeat, as if I have any intention of intervening now. “We’re not doing this.”

Matty lets out a low noise– something between a chuckle and a groan.

“Love, we’re already doing this.”

He pulls me closer and my body melts like putty under his fingers; the growing wetness against the lace of my panties becoming increasingly uncomfortable. His digits trace the hem of my dress, inching higher at an agonizingly slow pace. His breath fans across my lips teasingly, never quite getting close enough; never quite giving in.

“Fuck you.” I retort; a desperate last attempt at holding onto my promises to stay away from him.

“You want to?” 

He smirks as I frown at his shitty joke. My reaction is immediately wiped from my face as I feel his middle finger ghost over my clothed core with a near painful lack of pressure. I close my eyes, feeling the room spin around me. Having Matty this close again was stronger than any drug I could ever imagine.

“Tell me to stop,” He whispers against my lips, my chest now mere inches from his. “Tell me to stop and I’ll walk away, you know I will.”

I open my eyes, my sight catching on his dark irises once more. I know it’s the truth. If I said the word he would leave right now– walk away and pretend this had never happened at all. But, I know he won’t, because he knows I won’t tell him to.

“No.”

The singular word is enough to make Matty snap, his lips crashing against mine like wild waves against ragged cliffs. The kiss is all teeth and smeared lipstick. I gasp as matty applies the faintest of pressure against my neglected core, still wrapped in lace like a gift to be unwrapped. He uses my reaction as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, sucking up every last bit of my taste like a man starved. He pulls my chest flush against his, far too gone to care at all about the packed club still vibrating around us. The darkened corner we were tucked away in served as enough privacy for us to manage. 

Matty slips a finger under the lace of my underwear, letting the pad of his digit run through my soaked core, dragging a bit of wetness up to my swollen bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, darling…all for me?” Matty smirks that same damn smirk he always had when he gets a little too proud of his work.

“Don’t get too cocky, Healy. What if I’m just using you to get me off?” 

My sad attempt to add any bite to my words is ruined as Matty slides a long finger into my entrance; my walls contract around it desperately, aching for the stretch it doesn’t quite give.

“Then I would say that nothing has changed.”

In another universe, his words may have stung more– a certain dig at my consistent lack of emotional commitment. However, at this moment, I was sure that I could feel my brains leaking out of my ears with each one of his sickly sweet words. I was too drunk on pleasure to care much at all.

Matty moves his lips from mine to the skin of my neck, biting and licking his way down the sweat-slicked skin as his fingers continued to work on me. His thumb finds my clit, rubbing tight circles over the electrified nerves.

In a cruel twist of fate, a figure brushes against my shoulder, sending me spiraling back to earth before my high could truly set in. I place my hand over Matty’s, stilling his movements. I watch as confusion and something that seems almost near concern floods his face.

“Not here,” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “It can’t happen here.”

I don’t have to say anything more for him to understand the meaning between my words. He takes my hand in his, hastily dragging me through the tight tides of people and towards the neon “Restrooms” sign in the far left of the club. There’s a line, quite a long one at that. Thank god Matty couldn’t give less of a fuck. All that matters to him now is feeling skin against skin, fingers in his hair, and heartbeats blending to one.

He shoves past a group of guys in line, pushing open the door with one hand as his other holds tightly to mine. The men' s protests go unanswered by Matty, who is much more focused on locking the door behind us before shoving me up against it, resuming his unrelenting attack on my lips with his own.

“Need you…”, I gasp as he slots his knee between my legs, gripping onto his dampened curls like a lifeline.

“I know you do, sweet girl, always so needy for me, yeah?”, he murmurs against my neck, the vibrations making my cunt purr in his absence.

“Don’t be a dick”, I quip. Even in my most vulnerable, Matty knows I have fire to me.

“Don’t be needy then”, he growls against my skin, pressing his fingers deeper into my hips with effort that I am sure will leave purple marks tomorrow. 

With a bit of effort, I flip us around, Matty’s back now pressed flat against the cool metal of the washroom door. I let my hands trace over his clothed chest, popping open a solemn button at the top of his now-wrinked white shirt, revealing the top of his detailed tattoo that I had grown to know every intricacy of. 

My hands move lower, now toying with the hem of his slacks, all whilst kissing up his neck and across his jaw. He thinks I’m needy? Two can play at that game. 

I run my hand over his obvious hardness, and smile against his swollen lips.

“Oh, sweet boy…this excited already?” I apply the faintest of pressure over his bulge, feeling his dick twitch beneath the fabric.

“P-please love…need to be in you…” He bites down softly on my lip, making me arch against him. I snap back to reality only a moment later, remembering the goal of my behavior in the first place.

“Did I ask what you want?” I remove my hand from him swiftly, leaving his hips bucking up against nothing, and a pleading noise escaping from his lips. “Don’t be needy, right Healy?”

I smirk against him as he squirms at the lack of contact, reminding me of how he left me aching and wet only minutes before.

I take a short step away from him, watching a gorgeous flush red sneak up the collar of his dress-shirt in the wake of my teeth. The sight is almost too much to bear: Matty, pushed against a door practically whimpering, surly having thought that he would be the one in control this evening. God, how wrong he can be. Plus, after the way he spoke to me, he doesn’t deserve it.

I sneak my hand under the hem of my dress, taking in the ravishing picture painted out in front of me. Matty’s eyes are closed, and I blush at the idea of him noyt knowing what was unfolding in front of him. I lean against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as I slide my dress to pool around my waist, dipping a finger below the line of the lace. I let out a soft gasp as my digit brushes my clit– swollen from neglect and arousal.

“Fuck…”, I gasp out, sliding a finger inside as I draw figure eights over the bundle of nerves.

Matty’s eyes open instantly as he hears the sound escape my lips. His pupils go wider than I have ever seen them, sheer lust practically dripping from his skin. He moves forward, hand going to swat mine away– to take over and regain his control. 

I halt his hand before it can reach my core, his gaze snapping up to meet mine.

“Nuh-uh,” I whisper against the shell of his ear, “no touching.”

A poor whine spills from his reddened lips, and I feel his hardened cock twitch against my thigh. For a moment, I consider taking mercy on him: letting him touch and take whatever he pleases. But, no. I can’t. Not yet.

“Look at you, baby,” I coo, “thought you were all big and strong, huh? Look at you now, being so damn good for me, yeah?”

I punctuate my sentence with a second finger into my entrance, a moan fighting its way out of my mouth.

“All you can do is watch me make myself feel good, isn't that right?”

Matty groans at my words, forehead dropping against my shoulder as I let out another surgery moan.

“P-please…”

I smile as I watch how undone he is becoming. I am starting to remember why I loved our dynamic so much. One second he’s making me squirm under his hands, and the next he’s wrapped around my finger.

“‘Please’ what, baby? Use your words and you might get what you want, yeah?” I grin as the wheels turn in his mind. I may be cruel in my actions, but I’m nothing if not consistent. Follow my rules and things will go your way.

“Need you to touch me…please…”, His words are closer to wispy, strung together words than true sentences, but they do the job nonetheless. Before he can get another word out, I pull my hand away from myself and begin unbuttoning his trousers. I run my hand over his clothed cock once more before freeing it from the confinements of his boxers.

“Fuck, love–” Matty groans, “feels so perfect”.

I capture his words in a searing kiss as I run my thumb over his slit; already red and dripping with precum. Matty hisses at the contact, body shuddering beneath my touch. I cross my thighs together, clenching them tightly and praying for a swift relief of the growing tension between them that my fingers had previously been unable to remove.

I stroke him quickly, twisting and squeezing in all the right places to make Matty squirm.

“So pretty for me”, I say as I plant kisses across his face, “you want to touch me pretty boy?”

His hips jerk against my hand– I can tell he is getting close. My stomach swirls with need as he nods, hooking his hands around the waistband of my lace panties.

“Can I?” 

Matty looks at me with wide, hopeful eyes; cock strained and dripping– he looks like a fucking wetdream.

“Mhm, go ahead Healy.”

The reminisce of a smirk is wiped from my face as his cold fingers pull my panties down my thighs, cool air hitting my wetness, sending shockwaves of pleasure but my spine. Matty runs a sure finger through my wetness as I shiver, cunt throbbing from two near-orgasms painfully denied.

“Please Matty–”

What was meant as a steady sentence comes out as more of a pathetic whine, surely inflating Matty’s depleted ego, all memories of his previous behavior fading into the haze of the moment.

He circles my entrance before slipping two fingers in, the pad of his thumb rubbing perfect circles over my swollen bud. I gasp and writhe at the feeling– the stretch is absolutely delicious. His fingers are much thicker than my own, and more callused as well, making for the perfect feeling inside my plush walls. 

He curls his fingers and I practically see white; the rubberband in my stomach pulling so tight that I’m sure any more and I would collapse right now. 

“Shit– please…”, I gasp, eyes closing as I throw my head back. 

Matty flashes a shit-eating grin, planting a sloppy kiss on my neck.

“Knew I’d have you reeling for me soon, love. You want to cum, yeah?” 

His voice is too sweet to hold any truth, but my mind is far too ruined to hear the deceiving tone.

“Yes–yes! Please Matty….feels so good…” I bite my lip, stifling a scream as Matty curls his fingers once more, hitting that godly spot inside me. Then, with no warning at all, he’s gone. 

I feel an emptiness that is near devastating as I clench around the air, heart pounding and breath ragged.

“What the fuck?!”, I practically yell.

I open my eyes to find Matty smiling my way, a glint of pride in his eyes.

“That’s for earlier. Really thought you could play unfair and get away with it?”

I pout my lips slightly, but I don’t have time to be angry before I feel Matty lining himself up against me. His eyes catch mine one last time; I give him a slight nod, a final confirmation of what we both knew was about to happen.

Without any more warning, he pushes inside me, a moan ripping from his lips as ecstasy floods my axons. His pace is unrelenting: deep and purposeful. He paws at my still-clothed tits, and it is only then that I realize we are both still mostly dressed. Even with him inside me, I find myself wishing for the woven barriers to be removed. God, what ever happened to hating Matty? 

Matty’s hand sneaks between my legs as they wrap around his waist, the tip of his dick hitting the spot that makes me see stars as he circles my clit. I whimper against his lips as my eyes shut.

“Nuh-uh, come on, Love. Let me see you. Eyes on me.”

I fight to open my eyes, locking my gaze on his like a life raft in a sea of pleasure.

“C-close”, I manage to gasp out. I can see in Matty’s eyes that he is thinking the very same thing.

“Cum for me, darling. ‘Been so good for me.” 

My vision whites out as I cum with a stifled scream, fingers clawing at Matty’s shoulders as my walls convulse around him. His pace continues inside me, riding out the waves of my aftershocks.

“Fucking hell…gonna cum, Love,” Matty’s breath halts, body stiffening as he pulls out. Sticky, white ropes paint his hand, drops falling messily onto the silk of my dress. Under normal circumstances I would have cursed him out for messing up the garment, but my head is much too hazy to think any real thoughts at all.

I collapse against Matty with a final gasp, letting him hold me for the first time in months. It is now, perhaps, that I am beginning to remember why it took me so long to leave.

“Did so good for me, yeah? That’s my girl.” 

His kind words glaze through my ears as I melt onto him, my own release dripping down my thighs.

“Missed you.”

The admission slips from my lips before I can stop it, and I tense in anticipation of his reaction.