#bf7

his glasses stay on, fogging at the corners while he leans in over you, chest pressed down warm and steady against your bare skin, his hair thick and floppy and brushing your forehead, the frame of him a blanket you can’t wriggle out of no matter how hard you twitch and gasp and try to shift your hips away from the slow, careful weight of him inside you. brock’s breathing deep, focused, mouth dragging over your cheek, your ear, his voice soft and so maddeningly gentle it makes your stomach knot up worse than the stretch already has.

"shh... you’re okay. i know it’s a lot," he murmurs, not teasing, not mocking, just watching you melt under him with that quiet, knowing look in his eyes, glasses slightly crooked from the way you’ve been pawing at him without realizing. you’re so wet around him you can feel every twitch of his cock like it’s being carved through you, thick and hot and slow like he's imprinting the shape of himself into your body one careful stroke at a time. it’s too much—he’s too big, he feels like he’s everywhere—and your legs keep trying to close around him instinctively, thighs trembling, but he just cups the underside of your knee and eases it back up with a kiss to your jaw.

“just a little more,” he says, voice like syrup, low and even, “you’re already doing so good for me, baby. you're takin’ all of me, look at that.”

you can’t. your eyes are fluttering open and closed with every inch he gives you, overwhelmed, mind blank except for the pressure of him between your legs and the dizzying warmth of his praise in your ear. you whimper again—high, broken, desperate—and he groans so quietly like the sound physically hits him, like it’s too pretty for him to take. you feel every throb of his cock inside you, the subtle shifting as he rocks forward another inch, another slow glide that pulls the breath from your chest and replaces it with heat so intense your fingertips curl against his biceps.

he’s barely even moving and it’s still so much, the stretch tugging at your insides, your pussy clenching down without meaning to as your body tries to accommodate the width, the length, the impossible grind of him. your walls flutter around him every time he shifts his hips, and he can feel it—of course he can—he lets out this low noise right against your cheek, smiling gently, more turned on by the effort it takes than any sort of rough fucking.

"you feel everything, don’t you," he murmurs, more statement than question, lips brushing yours. "poor thing, i know... you’re trying so hard for me, aren’t you?"

you nod frantically, breath stuttering, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek as his hips roll again, slower this time, deeper, the tip grinding against a spot inside you that makes your voice break into a choked little gasp. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your temple, then your chin, just soft brushes of affection between the unbearable movement of his cock splitting you open in these gentle, controlled strokes that make your whole body jolt.

“is it good?” he asks, so quiet you feel the words more than hear them. “you’re still so tight around me… you feel me up here, baby?” he follows by pressing down on your lower tummy.

your face burns as you whimper a yes, hands clawing weakly at his back, and his mouth finds your neck again, kissing slowly along your throat like he’s trying to distract you from how deep he’s pushing in, keeping you pinned and still so he can slide every last inch into your fluttering cunt without letting you back away. there’s this aching, sensitive pulse starting to build low in your stomach, not pleasure yet but the start of something heady, and you gasp again when he finally bottoms out, hips flush to yours, buried so full and tight you can’t breathe for a second.

"that’s it. that’s all of me,” he whispers, kissing your jaw like a reward, holding still for a moment so your body can learn the shape of him. you feel so stretched, stuffed, your cunt fluttering helplessly around the girth of his cock, every clench pulling a soft hum from him. he strokes a hand over your side, soothing, grounding, while his mouth keeps finding yours for slow, messy kisses that steal your breath and give it back soft.

his hips start to move again, not hard, just slow and deep and thorough, dragging his cock out almost all the way before sliding it back in so deliberately you feel every inch all over again. the rhythm makes your breath hitch, makes your toes curl, your pussy spasming around him each time his tip kisses that spot inside that makes your thighs jump. it’s too much but you don’t want him to stop, the fullness now twisted up with need, with the unbearable warmth curling tighter between your hips.

he keeps kissing you, keeps whispering soft things—"you make the prettiest sounds," and "there you go, baby, that’s it"—each one coaxing you further into that fuzzy, sensitive place where everything feels thick and hot and so real you want to cry. you’ve never been fucked like this, never been touched like this, and it shows in the way your body clings to him, in the way your cunt tightens with every stroke like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of him.

“what movie did you pick, baby?” brock plopped down on the sofa, relaxing into his usual spot against the armrest. he stretched, making himself comfortable. finally, he had a few days off from hockey and wanted to make the most of them. he dedicated his time to you. that included sleeping in, a late breakfast in bed, lots of snuggles, and now, a movie night.

a knowing smile graced your face as you carried a blanket to wrap up in. “the princess bride,” you beamed. 

brock’s eye roll was exaggerated, even as a smile crept across the corners of his lips. 

“if you roll your eyes back any further, they’re gonna get lost back there,” you chided, though there was no absolute conviction in your voice. 

“well, sorry, ma’am,” he drawled, the nickname creating a warm tinge to your cheeks, “i just didn’t think we’d watch the same movie a third time in a row.” brock reached out to pull you into his lap, in between his legs. he, of course, didn’t care. the princess bride was your comfort movie, and he was happy to indulge you once more. he nestled back against the armrest while you nestled against his chest. the blanket was spread over your legs, cradling you both in warmth and softness. his arms naturally fell to your waist, large hands covering your stomach. 

brock smiled at the sight. you wore one of his u of m sweatshirts and a pair of lounge pants. the golden color made you shine so brightly. as you pressed play, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. when you tilted your head up to smile at him, he planted a kiss on your nose. “you’re so beautiful, buttercup.” 

that had you turning bright red, to which brock laughed. “just shut up and watch the movie,” you grumbled under your breath, shrinking deeper into the sweatshirt. 

the two of you settled into a cozy position as the movie began. brock’s hand provided a sense of comfort, just resting on your stomach. absentmindedly, you played with his fingers, and he let you. he found it so endearing. from underneath, brock’s chest rose and fell steadily. you heard every breath – you even teased him relentlessly for being a mouthbreather – but it was undeniably brock. 

watching the movie for the third time, you were getting bored. you had every line memorized, mumbling along under your breath. it was no surprise that you were getting antsy. in an effort to settle in and get comfy, you had sunken further down into the couch. that just wouldn’t do. under the guise of adjusting, you sat up, slotting your ass perfectly against brock’s hips. he let out a soft grunt, but didn’t seem privy to your plans. you smirked, knowing that you had your boyfriend exactly where you wanted him. 

you couldn’t proceed with your plan too quickly. brock couldn’t catch on too quickly. it had to be implemented slowly, strategically. you stayed put, even relaxing back against his chest once more. your fingers never left his. other than your ass now against him, he was oblivious. his breath remained even, but you wondered how quickly you could change that. that’s when you decided to make your first move. 

you started slow. a gentle shift of your hips to gauge if brock was aware of your motives. it was subtle, but you swore that brock’s fingers twitched against your stomach. you waited a few beats before testing the waters again. this time, you pressed your ass up, not leaving anything to the imagination. if brock figured out, though, he didn’t say anything. however, you could feel his thighs squeeze together to capture your hips. you bit your lip, needing to keep quiet. another shift, and the jig was up. you were caught.

brock’s hands moved down, teasing your waistband. your breath hitched as his fingers found the exposed skin between your sweatshirt and pants. he leaned forward, and you didn’t need to turn around to see the growing smirk. “baby, if you want something,” he kissed the sweet spot where your jaw meets your neck, “you just need to tell me.” 

a soft whimper escaped your lips as you shook your head. you weren’t ready to give in just yet. your teasing had only just begun. you had so much more to give him. you wanted him begging for you. 

abandoning your movie, you threw the blanket off and shifted to face your boyfriend, straddling him. his hands fell over your ass, kneading the flesh. a giggle fell from you, pressing back against them. grinding against him wasn’t enough. your hips circled, and his cock twitched underneath you. you hated the way you could already feel him. how were you supposed to keep your resolve in these conditions? you couldn’t fall for brock’s charm and sweet talking so easily. you needed to be stronger than that. 

your arms hung loosely around his neck, wrapping your fingers through his curls. his bright green eyes sparkled. they flicked back and forth between your eyes, lips, and exposed neck. he was pleading with you, asking for permission in his own way. though your ultimate goal was to hear him beg for you, you knew you’d have to work for it. nodding, you silently allowed him to give in to you. he took advantage immediately, crashing his lips against yours. you hated how quickly you melted into the kiss. you didn’t stand a chance against him and his hot tongue. your resolve was weaker than you had hoped, and it was crumbling with each passing second. 

brock’s tongue took any opening you gave him, pressing it into your mouth to explore. with each lick into your mouth, your hips never stopped moving. the sounds that escaped both of you were obscene, but neither cared. why would you? it was unapologetically you. brock lifted his hips to meet yours, pressing against your center. you gasped, the wetness of your panties starting to cling to you. that earned a smirk from the man beneath you. he didn’t have to reach down to know how soaked you were. you always become so wet for him. 

“do i even need to check?” he teased, his breath heavy. it was your turn to roll your eyes, to which he responded, “if you roll your eyes back any further, they’ll get lost.” smugness dripped off of his voice, rumbling deep in his chest. “you ready to tell me yet? or, you just gonna tease me?” 

stubborn, you shook your head, “beg me.” 

brock’s head tilted up for a moment while his eyes narrowed as he assessed how serious you were. one of his hands left your ass to push up his glasses, and then he grabbed the back of your neck, drawing you in. your breath hitched, and he smirked, “make me.” 

swallowing in an attempt to bring yourself back to reality, you leaned against him. two could play at that game. you ground your hips down, circling over his cock. it caused him to bite back a groan. your hips kept rocking, selfishly applying friction in all the right places. he removed his hand from the back of your neck to grip your hips tightly. surely, he would leave bruises. his hips lifted to meet yours, but you shifted away from him. 

“i told you to beg me.” 

his brow furrowed. you’ve never acted like this before. brock had to admit that he kind of liked it. he found it endearing that you thought you had any control over him. his chest heaved out a soft sigh before tilting his head as he considered his options. you both knew that he could easily take over, and you would fold so quickly. you wouldn’t even resist his efforts. however, he was fascinated by you, your ability to think you had control. he wanted to explore that. if you could tease him, he would tease you right back. 

hiding his smirk, he used his strength to pull your hips down against his. you gasped, blushing. he was supposed to beg, and this was cheating. before you could protest, he spoke, “please, baby, i need you.” his hands pushed and pulled at your hips, forcing you to roll them across his lap. he let a soft hum escape from his throat, making eye contact with you. “only you make me feel this good, and i need you to do it again. please.” 

brock outsmarted you at your own game. you shortciruited at any semblance of control, never knowing what to do with it. brock used this to his advantage. his hand ghosted over your body, and his thumb snaked around to trace your jawline, and you shuddered. chills ran down your spine, preening from his attention. how could you possibly resist? 

closing the distance, you pressed against him. you left no space between you. you needed to crawl into his skin. he seemed to know it, too. the hand that was still on your hip dipped under your sweatshirt. it was hot, even against the warm skin under the garment. brock never failed to be a walking, talking space heater. he slid his hand higher, trailing your skin. he didn’t stop until he reached your tit, which he proceeded to knead. 

“brocky,” you breathed out, holding back a moan, “bear, please.” 

“look who’s begging now,” he teased as he lifted the sweatshirt over your head, removing it. 

your immediate reaction was to wrap your arms around yourself, hiding your body from him. you’d been in this position so many times, but you still felt insecure in front of brock. he couldn’t allow you to hide such a beautiful body from him, though. he captured your arms before you could attempt to cover yourself. “oh no, buttercup, you stay right here for me.” the next article of clothing he removed was his sweatshirt. in an effort to make you more comfortable, his sweatshirt joined yours on the floor. “how’s that, baby?” 

the blush in your cheeks seeped down through the rest of your body. “better,” you nodded. instead of wrapping around your body, your hands rested against brock’s chest. his skin was warm to the touch, fueled by the teasing you’ve done to him. your mouth watered. leaning forward, you latched onto his neck, mouthing at his pulse point. the groan that escaped his lips had your hips rolling over his cock, earning a second sound from deep in his chest. you knew better than to leave a lasting mark – brock was very particular about that. still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t worry a mark into his skin. you didn’t stay in one spot for long, moving down his neck and chest. while you left a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses on his body, brock played with your tits. his fingers rolled the hard buds between his fingers, earning his own moans from you. 

finally, brock had had enough teasing. looking down, he could see that both of your pants had a wet patch. “need to take care of you, baby,” he breathed out, “need to make sure you are satisfied.” 

dumbly, you nod along. brock barely even touched you, but it was clear that you were soaked through. he was also wet, precum leaking from his tip. gently, he tapped your hips, signalling you to stand up. you did obediently. he was slow to reach your waistband, choosing, instead, to slide his hands up your legs. his hands ghosted over your thighs, leaning forward to press kisses to your stomach. your fingers tangled in his hair. you needed something to ground yourself while brock worshipped your body. his fingers dipped into your waistband, sliding your pants down your legs slowly. he planted kisses down your thighs as he exposed more and more skin. 

“is this what you wanted, baby?” he mumbled against your skin. he was close, but not quite where you needed him to be. he slid off the couch and onto his knees, looking up at you. “wanted me to beg for you, just like this?” you could do nothing but nod, and that had brock laughing. he guided you to step out of your pants, where they joined the graveyard of other abandoned clothes. “can you be a good girl for you?” unable to verbalize, you spread your legs, hoping you were reading his mind. “that’s it, baby, good girl.” 

brock shifted closer and could see that your inner thighs were slick, your pussy practically dripping. one hand rested on your thigh, stabilizing you, while the other slid through your folds. the moan that ripped through your body vibrated in his chest. he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. you tasted so deliciously sweet. he needed more, he decided. slipping into your folds again, his index finger teased your entrance while his thumb circled over your clit, earning another moan from you. brock was slow, though neither of you needed more foreplay. he added a second finger, curling them up into the spongy spot that never failed to make you jello. 

“please, baby,” he kissed your thigh, “need to stretch you out. please, need you nice and open for me.” 

his word choice was intentional, ensuring your request to beg was honored. you both knew he had control, but he liked how nicely you asked for it. your hands flew to his shoulders for stability. he never failed to make you so pliable. his little smirk nearly made you fold over, unable to stand on your own. he had you right where he wanted you. not removing his fingers from your throbbing pussy, brock slid his pants down his thighs with one hand. his cock sprang free, tapping against his stomach. he coaxed you close to the edge with his fingers, letting you move your hips to find the right spot. 

the sensation resonated deep in your core. your walls clenched around brock’s fingers, forcing them back together whenever he spread them apart to stretch you out. his thumb danced on your clit so effortlessly, and you were happy to ride his fingers. slowly, you leaned forward, putting more and more weight onto his shoulders. you were unable to hold yourself up, leaning on brock to steady you. the pressure built higher and higher. just as you felt the dam inside you was about to break, brock pulled his fingers away. 

the whine escaped your lips before you could fully comprehend what just happened, “brocky, please.” 

the smirk on his face said he knew exactly what he was doing. “wanna beg you,” he whined back, “isn’t that what you wanted?”

fuck. he was right. that’s exactly what you wanted. once again, he’d outsmarted you at your own game. 

brock shifted his weight back, planting himself back on the couch before kicking his pants off to match you. he pushed his glasses up his nose before beckoning you to join him again. “please, baby, i need you,” he sighed out, “i need you to ride me like the good girl you are. always make me feel so good when you do.” 

and who were you to deny him? 

you climbed over his lap, straddling him. before his hands could find his cock, you intercepted them. “no no, brocky, your hands stay right here,” you purred as you guided his hands to your waist. usually, brock would be the one easing you down onto his cock, but right then, you had the confidence to do it. 

reaching down, your hand wrapped around his length. he twitched at the feeling, needy and wanting your attention. you used your fingers to carefully spread the precum leaking from his tip as lubrication, though neither of you needed it. you pumped him once, twice, three times before his fingers dug into your hips. it was a warning: if you didn’t stop there, he would come before you could ride him. it was your turn to smirk up at him. “what do you want, brocky bear?” 

you slowly swirled your thumb over his head. he groaned softly as he threw his head back. “you torture me, baby girl,” he licked his lips before bringing his head back up to stare at you. you were beautiful like this, even as you tortured him. you blushed under his attention and dropped your head. however, brock didn’t like that. he reached up to capture your throat, just resting his hand along the base of your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “eyes right here, baby,” he spoke softly, “look at me, only me, that’s it, good girl.” 

whatever resolve you had was diminishing by the second. you grabbed brock’s wrist, not daring to look away. you trusted your boyfriend; he would never hurt you. that didn’t mean he wouldn’t exercise his control over you when you acted out of line. doe eyed, you fawned at him, continuing to swirl your thumb over his tip. he hadn’t given you what you asked for yet. “brocky, beg me,” you squeaked out, hoping he’d give in and you’d both get what you want. 

unable to resist, brock swallowed and pulled you in closer. “baby, please,” his voice was shaky, “please, ride me. ride me until we’re falling apart.” even as you began to move to line him up with your entrance, he didn’t break eye contact. “you’re so beautiful, sweet girl. i’m the luckiest man alive to have you on top of me like this.” 

that was enough for you to sink on his length. the stretch around him was delicious, earning a mewl from your lips. the sounds from the man beneath you made all the teasing worth it. one thing about brock, he was vocal. if you made him feel good, he would let you know. you absorbed every sound and praise as a job well done. he even let out a soft groan as he bottomed out inside you. 

brock pulled you in by your throat to kiss you. his mouth swallowed your divine sounds. those were just for him, and he was going to make sure he savored every one. “that’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin, “let me hear all your pretty sounds, please. i need to hear you.” 

though you still wanted to tease him, you couldn’t resist brock anymore. not when he filled you. your brain failed to function anymore. your senses were overwhelmed by brock; his pretty moans for you, his thick cock stretching you just right, and his hands exploring your body. it was all too much and not enough at the same time. he knew it, too. you were putty in his hands, and he was the sculptor. 

brock nipped at your lower lip in tandem with his nails digging into your flesh. you rolled your hips in response, earning a groan from him. “just like that, brocky,” you murmured against his mouth. he smiled as his tongue flicked over his bites, easing the pain. “that’s so good, baby,” you barely spoke above a whisper, “so good for me.” your lungs burned, unable to catch your breath. your mind shut down as you let brock take control. 

the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. you could tell it was the same for brock as his fingers squeezed your hip and throat. your head was light and airy, the lack of blood flow causing a slight high. any words died on your tongue. all you could muster was repeating your boyfriend’s name over and over. 

brock’s hand left your throat, and you gasped. endorphins rushed to your head, and you fell against his chest, catching your breath. his hand found your thigh, his thumb circling your clit. you jolted, your hips slamming against his awkwardly. he laughed, kissing at your neck and shoulders as you turned into jello. “easy, buttercup, just a little longer,” he praised, “such a good girl for me. i know you can do it.” 

his thumb traced around your clit, teasing you. he knew it was working, too. your pussy clenched around him, and he groaned out as his head fell back again. you whined in protest, needing him to look at you. “no, baby, please,” you reached up to grab his face, “look at me.” 

brock’s head snapped up, immediately following your request. “anything for my beautiful girl.” he grunted, barely holding himself together. he was close. you were close. holding eye contact only intensified the feeling. “let go, baby, please? for me?” 

that was enough to send you reeling. your breath caught in your throat as heat pooled in your core. your walls clenched around brock’s cock as you rode through the orgasm. the mess soaked his body. his orgasm followed quickly, filling you with his hot cum. he never broke eye contact with you, knowing you craved his attention. his thumb didn’t stop moving over your clit until you slumped over, resting against him. he wrapped his arms around you instantly, protecting you. both of you were sticky, a thin layer of sweat clinging to your skin. 

your chest heaved, finally able to draw a breath in. you settled into brock’s body, comforted by his presence. your head lay on his shoulder as he pet your hair, singing your praises. “that was so sexy, baby,” he turned his head to plant a kiss on your forehead. “you’re so amazing, i’m so lucky.” slowly, he eased your hips up, much to your protest, but he shushed you. “it’s alright, sweet girl, i’m not going anywhere, just adjusting.” cleaning up would be a later problem for brock. his focus stayed on you and keeping you calm and comfortable. 

your breathing evened out with your body tucked between brock and the couch. you barely registered a blanket being thrown over you as your mind drifted off. your movie played in the background, brock replaying it for you. he’d yet to move, and he wouldn’t. not until you were ready. if that meant sleeping on the couch, so be it. he would do that for you. a proper shower to take care of and clean you could wait until the morning. he was perfectly content to lie with you on the couch, drifting off to sleep with your favorite movie on and his favorite girl curled up against his side. it made the long road trips and the nights spent away all worth it when the nights spent here with you were just like this. 

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as always, dedicated to @definitelynotdomanique for listening to the whorish thots first and letting me run ideas past you c: i love you forever baby girl

tag list: @kodzuvk @miserymeats @hodgepodge-musings @jackxhuggy-lover

His key clicks into the lock, deadbolt giving way for him to open the door. He steps inside, closing the door behind him before dropping his bag. He’s glad to be home. He had a bad check in game 2 of a roadie. Nothing serious, just enough to get him sent home.

You, his roommate, were nowhere to be found. Assuming you had picked up some extra shifts at work or had gone out with friends, he quickly shucks off his hoodie and shirt, heading for the kitchen. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, he takes a sip, sighing as the cool liquid runs down his throat. 

There’s a soft sound from down the hall, almost a squeak. He quickly looks over. Padding down the hallway quietly, straining to listen.

“Mmph!” There it is again. He follows it, ignoring where he's going, shuffling until he’s at the noise. It’s coming from your room. Pressing his ear against the door, he holds his breath to listen further, trying to get any clues he can.

“Oh fuck…” A voice whispers, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” His brows furrow. By the time he realises what he's listening to though, it's too late.

“Brock, fuck, nngh…” His face goes slack, jaw dropping ever so slightly. “Yes, god…” Were you masturbating? He presses closer to the door, careful to stay quiet. He knows he’s being weird, but he can’t help it.  He can pick out a mechanical buzz, the sound overridden by your moans.

Lava pools in his guts, heavy and warm like his face. He shifts, body weight against the door, desperately trying to calm himself as a tent forms in his pants. His hand snakes down, softly cupping, paying attention to where he needs it most.

He tells himself it's okay. That he’s not doing any harm. But every moan of his name makes his hand squeeze harder around himself, tipping him closer to the edge. His fingers hook under his own waistband, sliding down and down and down until he pulls himself out. His tip is flushed and hot, desperate like Brock himself. He glides up and down his shaft. Brock starts to pump himself, leaning his weight against the door. 

‘This is wrong. This is so wrong.’ He thinks. Yet, his hand doesn't stop. Rubbing his thumb over his tip, he smears precum over his shaft as he bites his lip. His hand moves quicker, up and down and up and down in time with the creaking of your bedframe. The guilt is gone now, replaced by the craving for your skin against his own.

He’d always liked you. He didn't know if it was that sweet perfume you always wore, the way you always made him coffee even on the first day he moved in, or what. Something about you always had him ennamoured. Eventually, that had progressed to biting his pillows and secretly fisting his cock. And hearing you moan his name had just reheated those emotions a thousand times over. 

His hand bounces faster. His breath gets shorter. He lets out soft ‘yes’s, breathy and whiny. His tip twitches, hand stuttering as he realises what's about to happen. The heat in his stomach coils tighter, threatening to snap right this second. His hand moves impossibly fast. He gasps one, twice, and a third time as a hot rope of cum shoots out.

“Gahhh” He tries to hold back his moan but fails. More ropes come, dribbling down onto his sweats and coating his hands. “Fuck, ah, shit…” His breath is heavy. He leans against the wall again, soft sighs and gasps escaping him. 

“...Brock?” Your voice floats through the door. Oh crap. He kinda got wrapped up in his own thing and forgot you were in there.

Freezing, his eyes go wide in fear. “Um…Uh…Yeah…?” He’s praying to the universe, hoping and hoping that you don't know what just happened. Unfortunately for him though, the universe was preoccupied.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing, I swear.” Your bed creaks, and he can hear you putting on clothes. Sensing what's about to happen, Brock shoves his cock back into his pants and desperately tries to wipe the sweat off his face.

Your bedroom door creaks open, “You’re home early…” You say meekly. He nods. Your eyes rake down his body, catching on the white staining and dripping down his clothed thighs. “Oh…”

Brock somehow blushes a deeper shade of red. He looks away from you, embarrassed and ashamed that he couldn't control himself. “Look, y/n, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have done this and I-”

The Hangover plays softly in the background as you and Brock enjoy your day off, you’re cooking a small lunch for the both of you and Brock is lounging on the couch scrolling on his phone. He laughs every so often as he half listens to the movie and every time he shouts “Babe! You gotta come see this!” You laugh and say “Brock I’m cooking us lunch!” but you go into the living room and watch it anyway. You hum quietly as you stir the pasta, the aroma of the sauce and herbs filling the room mixed with the nice spring breeze rolling through the open windows. You pick up a noodle out of the saucepan and taste it, deciding the sauce is the correct consistency and the noodles are done. You turn off the heat and call out to Brock, “Honey, lunch is ready!” You hear the noise from the TV cease and Brock’s footfalls make their way to the kitchen. He jogs in with a dopey, happy smile on his face. His glasses fall down the bridge of his nose as he bounds over to you like a little puppy.

He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses up and down your neck before inhaling deeply, breathing in your scent mixed with his cologne and the aroma of the food. “You’re happy today,” you state. Brock lets out a big breath as he steps back from you, “Yeah well I get to spend the day with you.” He says it so matter of factly that you almost missed what he said completely. You turn around and look at your boy, messy hair and all. He just shrugs nonchalantly and grabs a bowl out of the cupboard, then takes a few steps to the stove so he can fill his bowl with pasta. Once he decides it’s enough pasta he hands the bowl off to you, muttering “This is yours,” under his breath. You take the bowl from him, reach up and kiss his cheek, and make your way to the living room. Brock follows you with his own bowl of pasta, you both sit down on the couch and you cover Brock and yourself with the blanket that was haphazardly thrown to the side.

Brock grabs the remote off the coffee table and turns the movie back on before leaning back and eating his pasta. You both sit in silence as you eat your meal, Brock lets out occasional hums and ‘this is so good’. You laugh to yourself whenever he does along with reaching over and scratching the back of his head. Brock finishes his meal before you do and sets his bowl on the coffee table, then leaning back, scratching his stomach, and groaning. You huff and give him a look to which he smiles at and says “You did great baby, it was so good that I can feel myself slipping into a food coma now.” You take your last bite and laugh at Brock’s statement, leaning forward to put your bowl with Brock’s. You lay back on the couch and fake pout at Brock, “Aw you poor baby. What can I do to make you feel better?”

“I want cuddles.”

“Cuddles?”

“Cuddles.” Brock affirms. You smile and open your arms as an invitation for him. Brock’s smile stretches so wide across his face you fear it might split his face in two. He scrambles over to you, immediately plopping himself on top of you, head on your chest, arms wrapped around you tightly. He nuzzles his face into your bust and hums happily, his glasses become crooked from the angle in which he is laying. His mop of brown curls brush your chin and tickle your nose but you don’t move away, no, instead you wrap your arms around his back and hug him. For hours you lay together as one, Brock asleep on your chest as you keep alternating between the movie and him, occasionally you lean down and press a kiss to his head. He burrows his head ever farther into your chest, making a noncommittal noise while he sleeps.