#britpop

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★ 1992.

noel had never considered himself a jealous man.

sometimes he did it because it seemed necessary – for example, when he saw his girlfriend talk to some lad he didn’t know at the pub. he didn’t come closer because he was actually mad, it was more because it simply wouldn’t look good. his mates would would take the piss, call him a wuss.

noel always knew a small part of himself was a right bastard, but the smarter side of him always knew what to show and what to hide.

so when he met you, it wasn’t any different.

it happened at liam’s 20th birthday.

he hadn’t even gotten his little brother a gift. not only because he couldn’t be arsed, but while being on the dole, liam wasn’t really a priority – a pint would do.

liam had been talking noel’s ear off the whole night. it figured, really, since he had moved out of their mum’s house a month ago just like noel did earlier this year.

noel did it only a few months into the relationship with his blonde bird. peggy said there was no need, that he was getting ahead of himself. liam took the piss, obviously – which is funny, because he said the exact same words his older brother did when he walked out through the same door: “need to be a proper man now”

the only difference was that liam did not have a girlfriend like his big brother. liam had mostly stubbornness, a small salary and financial irresponsibility.

but he had you. same age, organized, quiet, “proper smart.”

recently moved to manchester, still a little wide eyed about everything and in need of a roommate. you and liam crossed paths because you happened to be friends with a girl he had shagged a few times – still did, only when he had nothing better to do. the poor girl, you often thought.

the thing noel noticed the most is that liam didn’t quite sound like liam when he mentioned you, no. he sounded… mature? he sounded respectful, even.

noel was about to take the piss when liam finished updating him on what his life was like right now, but it died in his throat when he heard a soft voice coming from behind them and saw a manicured hand resting on liam’s shoulder to make him turn.

liam turned first, his face lighting up at the sight of his newest girl mate.

and when noel turned, fuck me.

noel always knew a small part of himself was a right bastard, but the smarter side of him always knew what to show.

he knew he had to say a polite hello and give you a quick side hug. he knew he should introduce himself, even do a little joke at liam’s expense – asking if he still snored loudly enough to wake the house up.

but he knew what to hide. and christ, did he have to hide a lot.

that night, he thought it was just ordinary attraction. you were a pretty bird, and god, weren’t you sweet.

he noticed how you didn’t quite know that at pubs, people need to speak louder than whatever heated discussion happening at the opposite corner of the room – but it was quite alright to him, since it gave him the opportunity to lean closer every time you’d say something. a perfect excuse to notice how good you smelled.

that night, he noticed that you seemed a bit too good for the mess liam usually dragged around.

that night, he noticed how liam sling an arm around you, careless, easy – and you wouldn’t shrug it off. he noticed how you leaned into his little brother without thinking, shoulder to shoulder like it was second nature.

that night, when noel got home, he woke his girlfriend up from her sound sleep just to bury his cock inside her. pressing his palm against her mouth to muffle her moans as he pounded into her, just so they’d sound a little more like your voice, closing his eyes so he could imagine you underneath him.

after that night, noel told himself it was nothing. just a stupid crush. just a pretty bird doing his head in.

so he didn’t really give much importance to the sudden desire to visit liam’s flat more often than he actually needed to.

there was never a real or meaningful reason. it was always just dropping by. having a smoke. nicking a beer. taking the piss out of liam.

but his eyes always followed you when you’d leave your bedroom. during the afternoon, in your work clothes, purse slung on your shoulder and a polite smile on your face as you said “see you soon”.

at the nights he crashed on the couch, he’d catch glimpses of you wearing soft cotton tees whenever you went to the kitchen for a glass of water. the thin kind of fabric that allowed him to see your hard nipples peaking through, he could swear he had never loved cold manchester breeze so much. the cute patterned sleeping pants were no better, because he’d either make out the cute knickers marked right under the fabric or make out nothing at all.

the last thing he’d hear from your mouth was a sweet and soft “good night, noel”

while the last thing in his head was how much he wished to slip inside your bedroom door and touch your pretty cunt over the thin layer of clothes, until you were fucking soaked through, begging for him to use his mouth. he’s so sure on how pretty you’d sound all whiny and needy for him – at least that’s what his mind always conjured in that quiet living room, stifling down his groans as he fucked his hand while laying down on the same couch you’d spend your lazy sundays in.

noel knew what to hide, and he was good at it – he was good at pretending his skin didn’t crawl every time his touchy twat of a brother put his hand on your back. because he’d never been the jealous type, or the type to lust after a pretty bird to a point he wanted to punch his brother in the throat.

snapping at him during rehearsals was enough. even when liam would so much as breathe wrong, the chief would loose it. “you’re supposed to be the singer and can’t even sort your fucking crap out?” he’d snap, out of nowhere.

liam would blink, taken aback more than anything, before that familiar amused scoff – the one that usually meant a wind up was coming. “the fuck’s crawled up your arse, r’kid?” liam would shoot back.

needless to say you weren’t in the same room. because noel would never, in front of you. god, no.

because to you noel is so nice, isn’t he?

he was good at finding reasons to be in the kitchen at the same time as you. water. crisps. sometimes even mugs, when he offered to make tea.

he’d reach for a mug in the cupboard right above where you stood. but the flat was tiny, wasn’t it? functional, sure. but cramped. and noel used every square inch of that luck.

every time he’d “accidentally” brush his crotch against the curve of your ass as he passed, a low mutter of “‘scuse me, love” masking the way his heart thudded hard against his ribs, hoping you didn’t notice his cock twitching inside his pants at the minimum contact.

and you never saw it as a bad thing, because minutes later he’d always hand you a warm mug of tea alongside the freshly open pack of biscuits he got on the way there.

because noel’s so nice, isn’t he?

── .✦

one afternoon, you’re not in. and the apartment always smells like marijuana when that’s the case.

liam was nearly passed out on the armchair, watching something on the telly that definitely wouldn’t be that amusing if he was sober. noel is halfway to the fridge when he notices the laundry basket by the door.

he shouldn’t. he knows he shouldn’t.

but you see, the corner of his eye caught something pink on the neatly folded pile of clothes right next to it. something that definitely doesn’t belong to a lad.

he shifts slightly and picks the tiny piece of fabric with two fingers, a smirk growing on his lips even as his blood began to rush to his cheeks – as well as somewhere else.

“this yours, r'kid?” noel called out, his tone dry and playful as he held the knickers up. “didn't know you'd gone all experimental since moving out.”

liam tilted his head just enough to look, let out a throaty laugh at the sight, and flipped him off. “piss off, fuckin’ weirdo.”

noel laughs too. casual. easy. but his fingers tighten around the fabric as he shifts his hand back closer to the freshly washed pile of clothes. and instead of putting them back to where they belong, the delicate fabric disappeared into the pocket of his coat.

later that night, back at his own place, the weight of the tiny piece of fabric felt suffocating. so while his girlfriend was asleep, breathing rhythmically and oblivious, noel sat up on the edge of the bed in the dark and retreated himself to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

he sat there for an hour, just holding them. he pressed the fabric to his face, inhaling deep until his lungs burned and his dick twitched inside his trousers. because they smelled like the laundry soap you used, but underneath that, there was you. that faint sweetness that had been dying to get a taste of ever since he first laid eyes on you.

he undid his trousers with shaking hands, the sound mixing with his own jagged breathing. he didn’t even fully tug his pants down, he only slid a hand inside and wrapped it around his leaking cock, fisting himself like a bloody teenager while his free hand held your knickers with a tight grip – nearly permanently placed right under his nostrils.

as his hand moved up and down, giving his cock shaky and sloppy strokes, he imagined you pinned against the hallway wall. he imagined those pretty big eyes wide as they looked back at him, he imagined your pretty lips fell agape as his cock slammed into your tight wet cunt. he’d get you so wet, so ready for him.

he’d replace the pretty raspberry lipgloss with his spit, leaving your lips slick with him after he’d kiss you messily. unless you begged for his cum. begged him to fuck your pretty mouth while his thick fingers threaded into your soft, pretty hair. the one that always smells like some sweet essence he’d never been able to put a finger on until a month ago.

until he took a shower in the bathroom you and liam shared.

“creamy coconut and roasted macadamia,” stupid cosmetic shite for birds. stupid fucking shampoo that made his mouth water.

his hair smelled like that for the whole day after, too.

then every single day, ever since one extremely necessary drugstore visit in the middle of the night.

then his girlfriend’s. because they shared a bathroom too, didn’t they?

later that week, she mentioned to her friends over drinks and giggles how noel’s sex drive had been better than it has been for months. she couldn’t point out why, though – but she didn’t mind, since the memory of noel fucking her on prone, grabbing her head by the hair and burying his nose on the nape of her neck made her press her thighs together.

right now, her sweet yet emotionally distant boyfriend was cumming in their in suit tiny bathroom with your name caught in the back of his throat, kissing the lace like it was a holy artefact as sticky spurts of cum stained the fabric of his underwear.

after he was done, he stuffed the delicate pink fabric into the back of a drawer where no one would ever find it. later on, a few more would be added to the small collection.

holy artefact.

── .✦

he was good at pretending what he has isn’t an obsession.

but the breaking point happened anyway. on a rainy friday, where noel had let himself in with the spare key liam had “lost” – the keys that his big brother had actually swiped weeks ago.

the flat was quiet until he stepped further into it. he walked toward the lounge and stopped dead when he heard a sound coming from your bedroom door. the one that you did shut, but it didn’t click all the way – and you weren’t planning on locking it anyway, since liam had gone off to your friend’s flat for a “friday night shag.”

it remained barely open, and from the small space the low sounds managed to slip through.

it wasn't a conversation, it wasn’t you talking to the phone or to yourself. it was a soft shifting sound, sheets and pillows rustling followed by a breath hitching that he knew all too well what it meant.

he walked closer before his brain could judge him for being a disgusting twat. and through the small crack in the door, he saw you. on your bed, tangled in a mess of white sheets. wearing an old oversized shirt that was bunched up around your waist, allowing him to see your ass barely covered by tiny delicate knickers every time you slowly moved back and forward over the pillow.

you grinded your hips into with a lazy, agonizing slowness. your head was thrown back, hands fisted into the pillowcase you were soaking.

he didn't even realize his hand had gone to his fly. he didn't realize he’d stepped closer until his forehead was almost touching the wood of the door. he could only watch. hypnotized by the way you arched your back, the way your voice cracked as a needy moan that sounded exactly like the ones he’d spent months listening to in his head slipped through your lips.

“noel…”

the whisper was so quiet, but it hit him like a punch. he felt the blood leave his head and rush straight to his crotch, his jeans suddenly feeling three sizes too small and his head too dizzy.

he didn't even bother tugging himself out, just shoved his hand into his waistband, his fingers finding the slick, leaking head of his cock. he started to stroke himself, his eyes wide and glazed, watching the way your thighs trembled. he was frantic and messy, while his breath coming in and out jagged. he leaned his weight forward, desperate for a better angle.

your face moved forward until it was pressed against the matress, your ass even more arched directly at him as you kept grinding. needier now, reaching out to your soaked knickers and dragging them to the side, sliding a finger inside your entrance at the same time your needy clit rubbed against the soft pillow.

“hmmph—fuck… noelly…” you moaned, whiny. the exact sound of the fantasies he’d been fucking his hand to for months. you wanted him. the realization was a drug, stronger than any powder he’d ever snorted.

and that’s when his shoulder hit the door. the latch, which hadn't been fully caught, gave way with a sharp, metallic click that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet flat. the door swung open another tiny inch.

you froze. the pillow stayed clamped between your legs, but your eyes snapped open.

before you could turn your head towards the door, noel had already stepped backwards. you caught only a faint glimpse of a brunette head and a dark colored coat – a frame that definitely wasn’t liam’s.

his face was beet red, his hand snapping out of his unzipped trousers with the velocity of light as he walked towards the living room. the shame hit him like a truck – a cold bucket of reality. he nearly tripped over his own feet before he collapsed onto the sagging brown couch, his head in his hands. his heart was doing backflips inside his chest.

fuck. fuck me. she saw. she heard.

and he was still painfully hard.

this is a fucking nightmare.

his cock hurt from how hard he was. needy, flushed and leaking – but the embarrassment was enough to make him want to put a bullet through his forehead.

a minute had passed, one that felt like eternity. he couldn’t move, even when you still were in your room, equally frozen. staring at the matress and thinking what the fuck you should do now.

then, he heard the soft sounds of your bare feet padding down the floors. it made him wince, because he expected to hear you screaming at him to get out, threatening to tell liam, to call the fucking police.

he didn't look up. he couldn't bear to see the look on your face.

“noel?” you said quietly. your voice was small, shaky. he looked up then, just a fraction. you were standing by the arm of the couch, clutching the hem of that oversized shirt and still no shorts – too late for that now, isn’t it? your hair was a mess, your hands were shaking and your pupils were blown out. you looked just as caught as he did.

“i’m sorry. didn’t… fuck. dunno what i was thinking,” he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. “i'll go. i’m— just... don't tell the kid, yeah? i'll be out of your hair.”

he started to stand, but you still spoke. “you… uh— how much?”

he sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand down his face. “heard— fuck. saw all of it,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks warm underneath his own palm.

his words hang there. and for a second, neither of you move.

you just stand there, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, heart racing so loud you’re sure he can hear it. the back of your neck is burning up with embarrassment, but the ache between your legs is telling you to give in.

no use, is it? he already heard you, and it seems like he’s been wanting this as much as you have.

you take a step closer, watching him already halfway up, like he’s about to leave, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. he’s still avoiding your eyes, he doesn’t notice you approaching. “i’ll just— yeah. go,” he mutters, voice rough.

your hand on his shoulder stops him. he finally looks up, stopping and sitting back down even though you’re not really applying any force.

“don’t,” you say softly.

“…what?” he asks, quieter now.

and the look on his face – it’s not smug, not cocky like usual. it’s something else. something raw. uncertain. you could fucking cum at the sight.

your hand trails up to the side of his neck. “don’t go”

his breath hitches. he can’t fucking believe this is happening.

“i said your name…” you said softly.

“should… be tellin’ me to get out,” he says, low.

“i know,” you say softly, nodding slowly. you tilt your head at the same time your hand slides up to his jaw, gently resting over it. “…i don’t want to.”

his breath catches the second your hand stays there, his chest starts heaving immediately. the faint moonlight coming from the window reflecting in his glassy eyes.

he’s so pretty. much prettier up close.

you bend down, your hand slides from his jaw to his shoulder, then down his arm – nearly hesitant at first, until your fingers brush his wrist.

he swallows hard. your heart is pounding, and so is his.

“i want you,” you say, barely above a whisper. and then – because you’ve already crossed every line that mattered – your hand moves down to his lap. your palm presses against his straining bulge, pulling a moan out of him.

pathetic, loud and rough, head tipping to the side for a second like he’s been hit. “jesus—” he breathes out.

your cheeks burn, but you don’t pull away.

“you have a girlfriend, noel…” you add, softer now.

he whimpers, nodding eagerly and bucking his hips into your hand. aching for relief now. but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t move your hand away.

if anything, his own comes to your waist, even getting a part of your hips – fingers digging in, palm resting over the sides of your knickers.

your fingers press a little more, testing, watching the way he reacts, the way his breath stutters, the way his grip tightens on you. “did you take them?” you ask quietly.

you don’t even have to say what. there’s something in his face immediately, even underneath the way his expression shifts in pleasure even at the small amount of friction – it’s something guilty, something perverted that makes heat rush straight between your legs again.

he nods.

your lips part slightly, a shaky breath leaving you. your hand goes to the button of his jeans, “what did you do to them, noel?” you asked quietly, your fingers shifting until they were sliding right over his waistband, feeling the soft happy trail underneath your fingertips.

his eyes flick to your mouth, then his eyes close again, like he can’t quite handle looking at you while saying it. “came…” he breathes out, already panting, voice low and uneven. “fuck. came all over ’em.”

your breath hitches, “yeah?” you murmur, softer.

he nods again, quicker this time, like he can’t hold it in anymore. “y-yeah… thought—” he cuts himself off with a shaky exhale, his grip tightening on your hip. “fuck. thought about you. being inside you.”

your hand moves, slipping right underneath his waistband, easy access given the open button and fly he had been too nervous to fix.

he breaks the moment your hand wraps around him. a loud and broken moan, his head dropping forward, shoulders tensing like he’s trying to hold himself together and failing.“fuck—” he breathes, shaky and barely audible.

“been thinkin’ about you too,” you whisper, almost shy, even now. your thumb brushes lightly, and he lets out a low, helpless sound. “every time you looked at me… every time you got too close in the kitchen… wanted you to fuck me right there.”

his grip tightens hard on your hip and his head tips back, jaw slack, breath coming uneven. “f-fuck sake”

your hand moves again, slower. your thumb brushes over his leaking slit. “couldn’t sleep every time you’d sleep over,” you admit, quieter now. “kept thinkin’ about you. walking in there. fucking me”

he swears under his breath, something low and wrecked, his hand sliding up your side like he doesn’t know where to hold you. “gonna… fucking kill me,” he says, voice strained.

you lick your lips, watching him fall apart under your hand before you pull it away, eyes darting to his lips.

“take me, then.”

with that, whatever thread of restraint left is instantly gone.

his hand slides up to the back of your head, pulling you in as he threads his fingers in the hairs of the nape of your neck. dragging you down to a kiss. messy. desperate. like he’s been starved of it.

you respond instantly. your hands grab at his shirt, his shoulders, his hair, anywhere you can reach.

you’d been in control just now. but when he stands up, hands on you ur waist and shifting you as well as he pleases, you realize he’s really going to do what you just said – and you couldn’t be happier.

his hand twitches inside your hair, his other one shifting you until you’re sitting down on the couch. he leans over you, not breaking the kiss and swallowing down your surprised moan as he yanks you foward until you’re on the edge of the sofa. one of his hands shift until it grabs your wrist, guiding your hand closer to his crotch once more. you moan at the heat of him pressed over your palm.

“feel that?” he groaned. “’s what you do to me. every fucking day.”

you moaned at his tone, trying to shift your hand so you could touch him underneath the fabric again – but his hands were firm on your body as they kept you in place. you watched him kneel, his hands wrapping around your thighs and leaning in as his knees hit the floor.

he gave you a long lick right over the fabric, rubbing the tip of his nose upwards at the same time he left a trail of his spit that mixed with your own arousal that had soaked through. you choked out a moan, your hand shaky as it flew to his hair.

one of his hands dragged your soaked knickers to the side, messily rubbing his tongue over your needy clit and eagerly wrapping his mouth around your folds, taking advantage of the size of his nose to keep the fabric right there out of the way. while his other hand slid inside his trousers with shaking fingers, desperate for relief.

you let out a soft, shaky moan at the feeling of his mouth eating you like he was a man starving, stuttering out his name and grinding your hips to meet the friction. and noel couldn't help himself, he started to give himself eager strokes with his shaky hand, moaning against your cunt, eyebrows furrowing at the taste that was already pushing him to the edge.

you choked out a moan, head falling back on the cushions when he slid two fingers inside you. he groaned as he curled them, his tongue tracing sloppy circles over your clit and pulling a loud wet sound at the action.

“say it again,” he moaned, his words muffled against your cunt, his chin already glistening with your arousal. “tell me whose name you were moaning in there."

his hand left his aching cock just so it could tug your panties down. pulling his mouth away from your cunt for a second and getting back to it even more intensely, sloppy and messy – the speed that he dragged your knickers down your thighs wasn’t any different.

“yours,” you cried out. whiny, broken and needy. already too fucking close – easy to when you’re living out the fantasy that was in your head just now. “noel... please... noel! fuck”

it was desperate, all of it. his fist was tight around the drenched and delicate fabric, soaked with your juices and his own spit. he still guided them to back his hand had been seconds ago – wrapped around his knuckles as he went back to working them on his own cock.

holy artefact.

the taste of you was everything he’d imagined. sweet, salty, and intoxicating. he used his tongue with precision that made you arch your back and nearly scream into the empty living room as you came pathetically fast over his tongue, fingers clutching at his hair to keep him close. he followed right after – feeling his knuckles get sticky with his cum, making a mess all over the fabric of his and your underwear.

you’re still panting when your fingers grab him by his hair, pulling him close for another messy and desperate kiss. he moans inside your mouth, his slick fingers grabbing your inner thigh and holding it while his tongue greedily slid against yours. he choked out a moan when your hand fumbled with the waistband of his, feeling himself twitch inside the sticky fabric as you slid your hand inside.

you gasped softly at the feeling, ending as a moan as you slurred against his lips: “fuck, noel. did you—“

“sorry—” he breathes out, rough, a little embarrassed despite everything. “fuck… didn’t—”

you cut him off with another kiss, grabbing his hair and shifting until he was sitting down on the couch, you’re the one kneeling now.

he lets out a surprised breath when you fumble with the fabric, pulling his trousers down and pushing the hem of his shirt up so it won’t get in the way. he lets out a shaky and nearly high pitched moan at the sight: his cock throbbing against his lower belly, a small trail of his cum connecting his flushed tip to his crotch, your pretty hand getting slick with his arousal as it slides up his length, your head leaning down until it places a slow and wet kiss to the head of his cock.

his hands come up once you close the distance, hovering for a second like he doesn’t know where to touch, like he’s been dreaming about this for so long his brain is actually short circuiting now. his brows furrow and his lips fall apart as you start to clean up his own mess with your tongue.

his hips buck up, he feels a little tear form in the corner of his eye. he’s warm all over, his head thrown back and his back arching into your touch – even missing the way you’re looking up at him, taking in every tiny reaction and relishing on how he’s truly loosing it.

because he’s not used to you like this. because all this time, he thought this would only be a fantasy. little did he know it had been one you shared all along.

his fingers slide into your hair, needy. nearly grounding himself.“fuck…” he exhales, shaky, watching you take him further into your mouth, moaning around him. “you...”

you don’t answer, just keep going.

you pull away just to breathe, still looking at him while a small trail of spit connects your lips to his sensitive tip. your hand doesn’t move, though – you keep stroking him slowly, the action filling the room with a small wet, obscene and slick sound. “think… it was just you?” you ask quietly, leaning back down until your tongue swirls around the slit of his tip.

he lets out a low, strained moan at that, his head tipping back for a second before snapping forward again, like he can’t stand not watching. “please,” he chokes out, his voice cracking and a loud moan being pulled out of him when you take him into your mouth again. greedy, needy and so eager to please. his breath comes out in short, hitched gasps that catch in the back of his throat when his cock hits the back of your throat.

you pull off again, breathless, licking him and swallowing every single drop. “thought about it…” you slur out, voice still soft, wrecking him even more. “you… fucking me. fucking my mouth…”

his breath stutters hard at that, a broken sound catching in his throat. “fuck—” he tries, but it comes out as a plea more than a warning.

“want it so bad, noelly,” you whisper, pleading. “please.”

he lets out a low groan at that, both of his hands still shaking with the overstimulation but going to your hair anyway. they guide you down on him at the same time his hips snap up. you moan at the feeling of his thighs shaking underneath your palms and his cock stuffing down your throat.

“fuck… yeah—” he breathes out, voice uneven. he moans loudly at the sound of you gagging softly when his tip hits the back of your throat, only fueling him on. his fingers threading through your hair keeps you in your place as he thrusts upwards, instinctively and needy at this point. “look at you. actin’ all… fucking sweet. fuckin’ not, are you?”

you nod, small and with a little struggle. your eyes get glassier with every thrust. “wanted it… just as bad, didn’t ya?”

you moan in response, almost whiny. the feeling of his hands in your hair while his cock slides in and out of your mouth with a wet sound, the sensation of drool gathering up on the corner of your mouth – you can’t help it.

your hands slides between your legs. your fingertips press over your needy clit, not even being able to draw slow patterns over it, just applying some pressure in seek of relief. you moan around him, and the vibration washes over him.

“always— fuck. wondered what you’d be like, yeah? if you’d be this—” he cuts himself off with a moan, hands grabbing your hair so tightly it would make you wince if everything else didn’t feel so good.

the taste of him is maddening, your cheeks flush as you take him deeper. your hand stays over the base of his length to keep him steady while your mouth works, massaging him while you suck him off – in a way that has him slurring out every single thought he’s been holding in for too long.

“look… fuckin’ look at you. takin’ it. ch—fuck, fuckin’ gag on me. just like that”

he’s completely undone, his hips stuttering upward in a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm. his eyes are blown wide, glazed with a hazy mix of shock and bliss as he watches you look up at him through your lashes.

“gonna… finish me off like that, fuck. milk me fucking dry” he mutters, voice rough with awe and arousal.

you pull back suddenly, breath shaky, lips parted and slick as you straddle him. your hands finds the hairs in the nape of his neck, grabbing them and dragging him back into another kiss. your bare cunt rubbed over his throbbing cock, and before he could even say anything, you grabbed him again, already guiding him towards your entrance.

he’s panting, completely wrecked, fingers still tangled in your hair. “fuck…” he starts, voice ruined.

“want you to cum inside,” you slur against his lips.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

then, you sink down on him.

he moans loudly at the feeling of your tight cunt swallowing his cock with an ridiculous ease. your wetness and your spit smearing all over your crotches as you take him. his hands are you in the same second you start moving. clumsy, eager. on your arms, your waist, your face, your tits – anywhere he can reach – dragging you into a kiss that’s breathy, sloppy and desperate.

your hands are just as bad – gripping his shirt, his jaw, his hair – pulling him closer even when there’s no space left.

and then your hand brushes against the couch.

fabric.

your brain almost ignores it, because how could you not be lost in the feeling of his cock hitting the perfect spot over and over? the sounds of him moaning inside your mouth, his groans mixing with your whimpers. the feeling of his hands grabbing onto you for dear life.

but it’s your knickers. and they’re ruined, properly. a pair he would’ve probably stolen if you hadn’t caught him peeking through your door and would’ve ruined himself anyway.

you fist them without even thinking, and your hand moves.

closer.

he’s too distracted to notice, by the feeling of your tight walls around him. too sensitive, too overwhelmed.

“sick fuck,” you murmur, shaky. your voice almost goes unnoticed from how loud the skin slapping sounds are now, how the wet sounds sound gushy and truly obscene. “t-took them.”

he nods instantly. because he’d nod if you asked anything, since he’s completely gone, pussy drunk. his lips bumping into the sticky fabric as he agrees, even opening his mouth and darting his tongue out as a silent compliance. a silent request, even. he doesn’t mind that it’s getting his chin and lips all messy.

“yeah,” he breathes against the fabric, voice muffled. “yeah—”

you huff out a breath as you keep riding him. your hand stays there, holding the fabric in its place. “such a fuckin’ mess, noel,” you whisper.

his eyes stay locked on yours, wide and dazed. breathing through his nose as he nods dumbly, completely gone for you. his pupils as blown as yours, it even swallows down the whole blue tint you’ve always been pulled towards – but my god, if only you’d known before.

how pretty he looks like this right now.

“my fucking mess,” you slur out, pushing the messy fabric past his lips. clenching around him even harder as you see him take it without any resistance. he lets out a muffled sound the second the fabric’s in his mouth, eyes fluttering shut, like he’s not even gonna pretend to fight it. like he can’t even disguise how badly he wants it.

his head tips back like he can’t handle it. his hands grip your ass even tighter, thrusting upwards pathetically as he feels your palm pressed over his lips and your knickers stuffed inside his mouth, as he feels your taste mixed with his sitting right over his tongue.

“mine,” you repeat, equally as gone.

then again, bolder. “mine,” your hand shifts to his throat, barely wrapping around his thick neck, but enough to make his eyes roll back, make his hands grab you hard enough to bruise and make him choke out a high pitched moan muffled by your panties.

“mine,” you repeat, breathless. hands shaking as they press in his pulse point that’s hammering underneath your fingers.

he nods. eagerly, completely fucking dumb. he blurts out, stuttering, shaky and muffled, repeating it like a prayer: “yours. yours. yours”

the taste of you on the fabric stuffed into his mouth, your scent closer than it’s ever been before, and the feeling of your tight walls gripping his cock was too much. noel’s eyes rolled back in his head. he let out a muffled, guttural moan into the fabric as his entire body tensed up. hot spurts of him spilling inside you as he came harder than he’s ever had before.

he collapsed back against the couch, tears gathered in his lashes of his eyes that were so tightly shut. his hands were still grabbing you for dear life as your whole body relaxed on top of his, shaking as much as he was. his head shifted until his forehead rested over your chest, going up and down at a mad rhythm – just like his.

the knickers were still clamped between his teeth. he was shaking, his heart racing at a terrifying speed.

slowly, you exhaled and raised your shaky hand until it pulled the fabric from his mouth, a thread of saliva connecting it to his lip. he exhaled heavily through his mouth at the withdrawal, reluctant and relived that now he could properly breathe all at once.

he was still panting as he licked his lips before breaking the silence. “fucking hell,” he breathed out, still stunned.

you leaned down with a small and tired smile on your lips, pressing a messy, spit-slicked kiss to his mouth. you smirked against his mouth as he let out a needy moan at the feeling of you clenching around him, making his cum drip out of you and making his tongue search for yours again, already sliding inside your mouth.

you pulled away just an inch, catching the sight of his tongue chasing yours, dragging over his lips like he’s already missing it. dumb and needy.

you brush your thumb along his cheek, almost absent. and he leans into your touch, because how could he not?

“break up with your girlfriend”

you whisper it, quietly and sweet. casual, almost. like you’re asking him to make you some tea as a form of aftercare.

he doesn’t even hesitate. he just nods, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his hands twitching on your side as he agrees. “yeah,” he says, breathless. like it’s the easiest thing in the world just because you’re the one that asked.

your lips twitch slightly at that. a sweet and satisfied smile that holds something meaner under it, because your obsession has finally materialized right in front of you in the sweetest, easiest – fondly pathetic – way.

you lean in again, your nose brushing his as your hand slides to the back of his neck. “good boy” you praise softly.

because you’d always been a bit of a bastard, too.

just better at hiding it.

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