#bm63

"What, like philosophically?" You snort softly, leaning into him a little bit, "Or are you now finally realizing you've always had one?"

"Hey!" He nudged your shoulder, grinning. "Nah, I mean functionally. They're just... there. Sure, they smell stuff, but mine mostly gets whacked with sticks, pucks…” he trails off for a moment, “fists,” eyes shining. “But yeah—it’s basically a target out there." He tapped his nose—big, adorned with a new scratch across the bridge from a recent game, but more importantly, unmistakably crooked from years of abuse. "Pretty sure mine’s just for decoration now."

You laugh, "Please. It's iconic." You edge closer, knees brushing his thigh.

He flashed his trademark grin, his fingers drew slow, looping patterns on your hip through the fabric of your sweatpants.

"True," he mused, voice lowering, "It's just that my nose is extremely noticeable." His thumb slid up, teasing the edge of your waistband. You looked from his hand into his eyes, his eyes that were starting to glisten with mischief. "It's especially obvious when it's buried somewhere."

Smooth, Marchand. Real subtle—you think, biting back a grin.

You lift an eyebrow, pretending to be unaffected. "Oh? And where's that, exactly?"

"Like—" he started, but his hands were already tightening on your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his lap. You straddled him, his mouth finding the curve of your neck, his nose tracing along your skin as he breathed you in. "Here," he murmured, letting his meaning sink in with the press of his body.

He nips softly, and with a gasp, you twist a hand into his hair—short and soft. His faint stubble drew a delicious line as he moved lower, teeth skimming your collarbone. You arched your back, pressing your chest further into his, his left hand spread possessively along your lower back.

"You're such an idiot," you breathe, words thinning as you roll your hips into his, heat pooling low in your belly.

Brad just laughed, vibrating against your skin as his calloused palms slipped under your shirt, skimming your stomach. "Yeah, but you tolerate it," he teased, grinning up at you.

Your retort died on your lips as Brad gripped your hips, lifting you from his lap and moving you to the end of the couch. He dropped to his knees, hooking his fingers into your sweatpants and underwear and sliding them down in one practiced motion. His hands glided along your calves as he pulled the last of your clothes away, then gently lifted your calves to rest on his shoulders. Settled between your thighs, his nose and mouth perfectly aligned. He looked up at you, eyes dark. Your mouth falls open with a little whine.

He leaned in, letting his large nose nudge your clit. Then backs away, teasing: "Right here, huh? Good thing it fits."

"Fuck—" you gasp, words dissolving into a moan as he leans in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your center.

His nose brushed your clit with every movement, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. His grip on your hips was firm, holding you open and steady for his mouth.

"Jesus, Marchy," you manage, voice already shaking, one hand twisted in his hair while the other scrabbles for purchase on the armrest.

He hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble.

You feel his grin when you jolt against his mouth. "You taste fucking incredible," he mutters, voice husky, before diving back in with hunger that makes your toes curl.

His tongue was relentless—broad strokes and sharp flicks over your clit, never letting up. His mouth dipped lower, lips sealing around you to suck hard before his tongue slid inside, fucking you with slick, eager strokes. All the while, his nose kept rubbing your clit, constant friction sparking pleasure that made your toes curl. His stubble scraped your inner thighs, the sting amplifying the molten heat of his mouth.

"Fingers—" you managed, hips rocking against his face, and he didn’t hesitate, slipping two inside you.

They curled just right, rubbing that spot inside you while his tongue took over on your clit, and suddenly the room was too bright, too loud, your pulse thundering in your ears as the pressure built. Brad didn’t let up, his movements growing more urgent, his free hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through your shirt, and you came with a cry, his name tearing from your throat as you soaked his chin.

Your thighs quivered against his face as Brad licked you through the aftershocks, delighting in every shudder. He groaned into you, rough and approving, then finally pulled back to grin up—chin gleaming, lips swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Perfect," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking every bit as satisfied as if he'd just had dessert.

You collapsed into the cushions, breathless, fingers still tangled in his hair. "You’re insufferable," you managed, chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself.

Brad pressed a kiss to your knee, then made his way up your body—slow, purposeful, the bulk of him sinking you further into the couch. He slipped a knee between your thighs, his hips finding yours, the hard line of his cock pressing hot against your thigh through his sweatpants. Instinctively, you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.

"You love it," he smirked.

His mouth found your neck, stubble leaving a trail of tingling heat. His hands slid under your shirt, warm palms tracing up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arched up, oversensitive but greedy for more, and Brad didn’t hesitate—he tugged your shirt up, helping you wriggle free. His mouth closed over your nipple instantly, tongue swirling before sucking hard enough to make you gasp. You squirmed beneath him, pleasure and overstimulation blurring together, sparks racing down your spine. Brad smirked against your skin, his hand traveling down your stomach and between your thighs again.

"So fucking wet," he breathed, dragging his fingers through your slick before pressing two back inside you with a groan.

You arched into his touch, whimpering as his fingers curled, hitting that spot that sent your vision sparkling at the edges. His mouth lingered at your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before soothing it with his tongue, the dual sensations making your hips jerk, grinding helplessly against him.

“Fuck—Marchy, please,” you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers clench in his hair, torn between wanting to push him away or pull him impossibly closer.

Brad’s quiet chuckle rumbles against your skin as he lifts his head, mouth shiny, gaze set on ours—his pupils blown, lips curling in a cocky tilt.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he teases, crooking his fingers inside you, watching the way your breath stutters. “C’mon. Use your words.”

You glare, or try to, but your thighs are trembling, and your resolve shatters the moment his thumb circles your clit, making you moan instead. Brad grins, wicked and patient, then leans down to lick a stripe up your throat.

His mouth hovers around your ear. “Yeah, I know,” he rasps, “but I wanna hear you beg for it.”

The bastard was enjoying this—his fingers relentless, his grip on your hip bruising, taking his time winding you so tight you might snap. You swallowed, pride finally giving way to desperate need.

“Want you to fuck me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Right now. Don’t make me wait.”

Brad’s grin turned feral as he pulled his fingers away and shoved his sweatpants down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, the tip shining as he stroked himself, watching hunger darken your eyes.

“Yeah?” he growled, thumb circling your clit. “You want it like this?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Shifting back on his haunches, he lifted your thighs over his shoulders and slid a pillow beneath your lower back, drawing a small, grateful smile from you.

Wasting no time, one hand anchored at your hip, the other guided him to your entrance. He pressed in with one slow, steady thrust—stretching you deliciously, your back arching as he filled you. Heat and pressure bloomed at your core. Brad groaned, forehead pressed to yours as he paused, letting you adjust, breath hot and shaky. He kissed you, soft and grounding, until your bodies settled together.

He pulled away with a rough, “Fuck,” grunting against your lips. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

Then he started to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force knocking a cry from your throat. His rhythm was brutal from the start, his hips driving into you. Every thrust dragged his cock right against that spot inside you, his pelvis grinding your clit with every push. Within seconds, you were trembling, pleasure winding tight and bright in your belly.

Brad saw it—his smirk smug even as his breathing turned ragged. “Close already?” he taunted, fingers digging into your hips as he angled you just right, the new position making you see stars and pulse tight around him. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” His praise was rough, edged with hunger, lighting you up all over again.

You felt the tension in his shoulders, muscles straining with the effort to hold back, and it only made you clench tighter, desperate for the way he was coming undone. Your breath faltered. Brad’s hips stuttered, his rhythm slipping before he drove into you harder, grip tightening as if he needed you to anchor him.

“Fuck, fuck—” he growled into your neck, his teeth scraping your skin as he buried his face there, the sound raw and desperate. He was everywhere—the heavy press of his chest, the way his cock throbbed inside you, hitting that spot over and over until you were shaking beneath him.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice husky. When you forced your eyes open, his gaze locked onto yours—dark, wild, starving. His pupils were blown, breath ragged. "Wanna see you when you come," he ground out, hips driving into you in an unrelenting, punishing rhythm. "Wanna feel you squeeze me."

You couldn’t help yourself—you clenched around him, and Brad let out a broken sound, forehead dropping to yours as his pace turned desperate. His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you as he fucked you through the building pressure, his breath hot against your lips. His right hand moved to rub your clit, and you moaned.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he rasped. "Just like that. Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me."

The praise sent sparks down your spine. You tipped over the edge with a cry, back arching as pleasure ripped through you. Brad swore, his rhythm staggering as you clamped down around him, his hips jerking as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, I can’t—" he choked out, and then he was coming, a groan so deep it shook you, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled, hot and thick.

He slumped against you, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven and hot between you as he stilled. The weight of him—solid, grounding—pressed you further into the couch, the air thick with sweat and sex.

Brad exhaled, a long, satisfied breath, and nuzzled into the curve of your neck, stubble scratching lazily at your damp skin. "Fuck," he groaned, lips brushing your collarbone. "You’re gonna kill me one of these days."

You laughed, breathless, hands in his sweat-damp hair. "Dramatic."

He lifted his head, fixing you with a look—eyes still dark, mouth curved in that smug, self-satisfied grin—and nipped your chin. "Says the one who just screamed loud enough to scare the neighbors."

"Oh, shut up." You murmured, face flushed, giving his shoulder a shove.

He only smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.