#block b

"You're kidding, right?" The shock in your eyes was plain for everyone to see, especially the friend who owned the car.

"Listen, ___, I'm so sorry… I brought the wrong car and—"

"But I need a place to sit!" Your voice pitched embarrassingly high; it always did when you were stressed or angry. A trait you absolutely despised.

"I know, I'm sorry! I miscalculated… You can sit on ___'s lap. It's only a thirty-minute drive."

You turned toward your personal pain in the ass. He lifted an eyebrow.

"Why him?"
"Yeah—why me?"

"Because it's the last seat, and it won’t look suspicious if we squeeze one extra person back there. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Dinner’s on me." Your friend offered a guilty smile.

"I understand sitting in the last seat," you snapped, "but why does it have to be on his lap?!"

"Guys, please. We’re already late. There won’t be any parking left. Let’s go!"

You shot your other close friend a glare.

"Don’t be a baby," he said. "It’s a short drive, and ___ doesn’t bite. Get over your mutual hatred for the sake of the group."

Pissed didn’t even begin to cover it, but you bit it back and climbed in anyway. The moment you settled onto his lap and the car lurched forward, the motion pushed you firmly against his torso. You tried to scoot away. His hands landed on your hips, steady and unyielding.

You glared.

"Relax. You don’t have a seatbelt. I’m just stopping you from launching yourself through the windshield."

You huffed, but after a minute the awkwardness dulled, his hands becoming background noise. Ten minutes in, your leg started to tingle, then numb. You shifted, searching for relief.

His grip tightened.

You twisted around, ready to demand what the hell his problem was—only to find his eyes closed. Maybe he’d fallen asleep.

Fine. Whatever.

You shrugged and edged sideways. Suddenly he hauled you back against his chest, jaw tight.

"Sit still, dammit," he groaned.

You tried peeling his fingers off.

"___. Stop moving." His voice had dropped, rougher now, almost a growl.

"What is your probl—"

Then you felt it.

Solid. Insistent. Pressed right against you.

You froze.

"Thanks," he whispered, cheeks flushed, eyes slipping shut again.

You swallowed hard. Staying still would’ve been easier if the position didn’t strain your spine. Maybe if you leaned forward just a—

His fingers dug into your hips. Both of you let out a quiet, startled moan.

"Shit, ___…"

You turned, and instantly regretted it. His gaze burned—lust tangled with embarrassment—and the heat pooling low in your stomach told you yours probably looked the same.

"S-sorry…" you breathed, clinging to anything that might distract you from the growing ache between your legs.

Warmth gathered beneath your clothes. God. You needed this more than you cared to admit; it had been far too long.

He noticed your breathing.

"Well…" he murmured, tongue flicking over his lower lip. "Finish what you started."

The words hit like a spark. Carefully, almost experimentally, you rolled your hips.

"Everything okay back there?" someone called from the front. "You’re so quiet—I figured you’d have killed each other by now."

"We’re fine," ___ answered smoothly. Thank God—your voice would’ve betrayed you instantly.

"Faster, baby." His forehead rested between your shoulders, hands guiding you. "You’re gonna make me cum in my pants… fuck."

You bit your lip hard enough to hurt, swallowing the sound threatening to escape. Every movement dragged delicious friction through you, your release coiling tighter and tighter.

"I’m close…" you whispered.

He hummed against your back, the vibration scattering goosebumps down your arms.

"That’s it… make yourself cum."

When his thigh flexed beneath you, it shattered whatever control you had left. Your fingers clamped around his knee as the wave crashed through you. He pushed up once—sharp, final—and muffled a low moan into your sweater. Even through the layers, you felt it.

Your eyes fell shut. For a moment, all that existed was the pulse of it, the dizzying aftershock.

"Fuuuuck…" he breathed. "That was the hottest shit ever."

Speech felt impossible. You managed a weak nod.

"Alright, we’re here! And look at that—you didn’t murder each other. Proud of you." Your friend laughed, catching your gaze in the rearview mirror as he parked.

"Yeah—" you said, voice unsteady, scrambling out the second the door opened, hungry for cold air.

___ stayed behind a few seconds longer, ensuring nothing was… obvious.

When he finally stepped out, your eyes locked. Something unspoken stretched tight between you.

After something like that, most people would never survive being in the same room again.

But the truth lingered, undeniable.