❝ 𝐘ⱺυ 𝗌α𝗒 𝚰 𝖼α𐓣 ꭑα𝗄𝖾 𝗒ⱺυ 𝖿𝖾𝖾ᥣ 𝗀ⱺⱺᑯ ❞ 】───𝐅𝖾𝖾ᥣ 𝐆ⱺⱺᑯ 𝐁𝗒 𝐂ᥣα𝗋α 𝐋α 𝐒α𐓣.
𝖦౿𐓣𝗋౿: 𝐒ꭑυ𝗍, ƒℓυƒƒ, αƒтєя¢αяє αт тнє єη∂, ρⱺ𝗋𐓣 ω𝗂𝗍ɦ α ρᥣⱺ𝗍, 𝖾𝗌𝗍αᑲᥣ𝗂𝗌ɦ𝖾ᑯ 𝗋𝖾ᥣα𝗍𝗂ⱺ𐓣𝗌ɦ𝗂ρ. 𝖢𝗁ɑ𝗋ડ: мαтт мυя∂σ¢к вєιηg α мαℓєωιƒє…🤤 𝖱౿ɑᑯ౿𝗋: 𝙉𝙤 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙔/𝙉❟ 𝙣𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙙❟ 𝙣𝙤 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙨. 𝖲ɕ౿𐓣ɑ𝗋ꪱ𝗈: мαтт ∂σєѕ ѕσмєтнιηg ѕιмρℓє ƒσя уσυ, ¢υттιηg уσυя ƒσσ∂ ιηтσ ¢υтє ѕqυαяє ѕℓι¢єѕ ѕσ ιтѕ єαѕιєя тσ єαт ωιтн уσυя ℓιρ gℓσѕѕ… вυт тσ уσυ? ιтѕ αη ιηνιтαтιση. 𝖠υ𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋౿ડડ 𐓣𝗈𝗍౿ડ: gυуѕ ιη му ∂єƒєηѕє… ι нα∂ α ∂яєαм αвт нιм σкαу ιм уєαяηιηg тнαт ∂яєαм ωαѕ gσσ∂
The low hum of the office fluorescent lights always seemed to buzz a little louder right before clocking out. Gathering up keys, sliding a coat over the back of the chair, and checking the desk one last time, the routine of ending a long shift was entirely automatic.
But the warmth of the phone pressed against the ear made the mundane routine melt away entirely. On the other end of the line, the background noise of Hell’s Kitchen bled through the speaker, accompanied by the familiar, comforting rhythm of Matt’s voice.
"I'm just finishing up in the kitchen," Matt murmured, his tone carrying that low, rumbling cadence that always felt like a physical touch. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat, a rhythm so often monitored, seemed to translate even through the digital connection. "You sound tired. Did Landman give you a hard time at the end of the day?"
"No more than usual," you replied, stepping past the glass doors of the office building and into the cool evening air. "Just ready to be done. Ready to be home."
"Good. Because you need to eat, and I'm already ahead of you." There was a brief pause, the faint, crisp sound of a knife meeting a wooden cutting board echoing through the receiver. Matt hummed softly, a thoughtful, entirely unprompted sound. "I'm making the chicken and flatbread. But… I'm cutting it into smaller pieces this time. Cute little square slices."
A small laugh escaped your lips as you navigated the sidewalk. "Square slices? Is there a culinary strategy to that, counselor?"
"There is, actually," Matt said, completely earnest, his voice dripping with that gentle, attentive sincerity that always managed to disarm. "You're wearing that lip gloss today. The one that smells like coconut. If I leave the flatbread in large pieces, the oil or the sauce ruins it, and then you spend five minutes wiping it off or fixing it. This way, you can just… take a bite. Cleanly. No mess."
The words hung in the air, simple and entirely practical in Matt’s mind, but the sheer, hyper-observant tenderness of it struck a deep, sudden chord. He wasnt even there to see the gloss, yet he remembered the scent, remembered the texture, and had mapped out an entire domestic gesture around preserving something so small and personal. A sudden, heavy warmth bloomed low in your stomach, thick and demanding, completely derailing any thoughts of a quiet, sleepy dinner.
"Matt," you breathed, stopping for a fraction of a second on the pavement.
"Yeah?" he asked, completely oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere, his focus likely still entirely on the precision of his knife work.
"I'll be there in five minutes."
The walk up the brownstone stairs was a blur of anticipation. By the time the key turned in the lock and the door swung open, the savory, rich scent of warm food filled the apartment, but the appetite that had taken over had absolutely nothing to do with dinner.
Matt was standing by the kitchen counter, dressed down in a soft, heather-gray t-shirt and dark trousers, his glasses missing, leaving his handsome face entirely exposed. He turned his head the moment the door clicked shut, a soft smile forming on his lips.
"Perfect timing. Its still hot," Matt said, gesturing toward the plate where the food was indeed meticulously arranged in perfect, bite-sized squares.
The coat was tossed onto the entryway chair without a care. Bags were dropped. Stepping into the kitchen, the distance between the two of you vanished in a matter of seconds. Matt barely had time to track the sudden, purposeful stride before hands were sliding up his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, and pulling him down.
The kiss was sudden, deep, and heavy with a fierce, burning hunger. Matt let out a sharp, surprised breath against your lips, his hands instinctively coming up to catch your waist, his fingers digging into your hips to stabilize both of you. The taste of you, sweet, glossy, and entirely consuming, flooded his senses. He groaned, shifting his weight to lean back against the lip of the counter, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone.
But just as he leaned into it, ready to lift you up onto the counter, you pulled back, breathing heavily.
"Dinner can wait," you whispered against his lips, your hands sliding down his torso, tracing the firm, ridged line of his stomach before dropping to the buckle of his belt.
Matt’s breath hitched. His head tilted back slightly, his blind eyes closing as his chest rose and fell sharply. "You're not hungry?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a sudden, spiking heat as he felt the deft movement of fingers unbuckling his belt.
"Not for food."
The snap of his trousers undoing echoed in the quiet kitchen. Slowly, deliberately, you sink down to your knees on the hardwood floor, right between his thighs.
Matt let out a ragged exhale, his hands leaving your waist to grip the edge of the kitchen counter behind him. Without his sight, his world narrowed down entirely to the sound of your shifting clothes, the warmth of your breath blooming against the sensitive skin of his lower belly, and the agonizingly slow friction as his boxers were tugged down, freeing his length into the cool air of the room, your fingers brushing against the trail of ginger hair leading south. He was already fully hard, thick and throbbing, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You leaned forward, letting the tip of your nose brush against the warm, rigid shaft, inhaling the clean, musk scent of him.
"Ah… sweetheart," Matt gasped, his hips twitching forward involuntarily at the teasing touch. His head rolled back against the cabinet doors above him, his jaw clenching tightly.
You didnt keep him waiting. Swirling your tongue around the sensitive crown, you tasted him, catching the soft, hitching sob that caught in his throat. Then, parting your lips, you slid your mouth over the head, taking him in smoothly, letting the slick, wet warmth of your throat engulf him. You wrapped your tongue tightly around him, suctioning hard as your hand pumped the base. The wet, rhythmic pooling of your saliva, the heavy, desperate puffs of your breath against his lower belly, and the sharp friction of your tongue painting him slick were almost too much to bear.
Every slide of your mouth, every friction of your tongue against his underside, was magnified tenfold for him. He could hear the wet, slick sounds of your mouth working over him, could feel the precise warmth of your lips wrapping tight around his shaft. You pushed deeper, taking him down your throat, your hands sliding up his muscular thighs, squeezing the tense denim of his jeans to hold him steady.
Matt’s hips began to roll against your mouth, an instinctive, primal drive taking over his normally calculated movements.
"Slow... slow down," he gasped, his voice completely wrecked, a stark contrast to the polite man on the phone ten minutes ago. "You're going to... you're driving me crazy."
You sucked him harder, bobbing your head, using one hand to stroke the base of his length where your lips couldnt reach. The combination made Matt’s entire body go rigid. "Right there," he groaned, a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat. "Right there, sweetheart. Dont stop."
The tension in his thighs went taut as steel. You could hear his heart hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs, the rapid rhythm echoing loud in the small kitchen. You swallowed him as deeply as you could, your hand working in perfect synchronization, pulling a desperate whine from his lips.
"Hold on, wait—" Matt gasped, his voice cracking, his hips shuddering as he tried to find friction against the wet heat of your mouth. "Too much… everything is too much. You're… ah…"
The knowledge of exactly how much power you held over him only fueled the fire. You picked up the pace, the overwhelming wet warmth wrapping around him, your tongue stroking the sensitive seam of his shaft with every downward stroke. He was right on the edge, his heart hammering continuously, a wild vibration inside his chest.
"I'm going to—sweetheart, please," he begged, his hips jerking forward, completely lost to the pleasure.
You didnt pull away. You took him as deep as you could manage, your thumb pressing firmly against his perineum to drive him over the precipice while your mouth sucked tightly around his crown.
Matt let out a choked, undone cry, his body arching off the counter as he came, pulsing heavily down your throat. He spilled into your mouth in thick, hot waves. You swallowed him down expertly, your tongue continuing to soothe the sensitive head as he rolled through the peak of his orgasm, his thighs trembling, his hands buried deep in your hair as he let out long, shuddering breaths.
The kitchen was silent save for the ragged sound of his breathing. Slowly, you slid off his length, looking up at him. Matt’s glasses were still gone, his face beautifully flushed, a soft, dazed smile touching his lips as he slowly began to register the comedown.
"Come here," he murmured, his voice incredibly rough and breathless. He reached down, his hands finding your armpits and gently but firmly lifting you up off the floor.
Your legs were a little weak, but Matt caught you against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around your waist. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his chest expanding against yours as his heartbeat slowly, steadily began to decelerate.
"You didnt even let finish the food," he whispered, a soft, teasing rumble against your skin, though his arms only tightened around you, holding you like you were the only solid thing in the room.
"I told you, I wanted something else," you murmured back, leaning your head against his shoulder.
Matt chuckled, the sound warm and grounding. He kissed the side of your neck, a lingering, soft press of his lips. "Lets get cleaned up. The bedroom is a lot softer than the kitchen floor."
Gently untangling himself just enough to fix his clothes, Matt kept one hand firmly clasped in yours, leading the way out of the kitchen and into the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom. The heavy, frantic energy of before had completely evaporated, replaced by a thick, comfortable warmth.
After a quick, quiet trip to the bathroom, you both crawled into the heavy blankets of the bed. The room was dark, shadowed by the city lights filtering through the blinds, but Matt didnt need the light. The moment you slid beneath the duvet, he pulled you into his space, his long limbs tangling with yours, wrapping you up in a protective embrace.
His large hand slide under your shirt, the warm, slightly calloused palm resting against the bare skin of your lower back, moving in slow, soothing circles. It was a grounding, repetitive motion, designed to soothe any lingering adrenaline.
"Better?" Matt murmured into the dark, his face pressed close to yours, his lips brushing your forehead.
"Much better," you sighed, shifting closer until there was absolutely no space left between you, resting your head directly over his chest, listening to the steady, comforting thump-thump of his heart.
Matt hummed, his other hand coming up to gently stroke through your hair, detangling any strands with infinite patience. "Good. Sleep now. Tomorrow, I promise, I'll re-heat those cute little square slices for breakfast."
A tired, happy smile spread across your face into the dark of his chest, the rhythmic motion of his hand in your hair slowly drawing you under into a deep, peaceful sleep.
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